Underneath the Draconian Sky

by Chatwin, Dale M.

  From the Journal of 1107:

  My emotions have been swathed

  the pencil lead has been engaged.

  It’s appealing to the spirit mind on several levels;

  I've looked for that matchstick once maybe several.

  To be found under a curtain, swaying softly

  silent in time with a beat

  and discover a disabled mentality is our only feat.

  A song plays heavily like a thunder cloud

  breaking west on the horizon.

  Can you smell the salt drifting easterly

  from the monochrome mountains?

  Travelling on dust on particles that breach a certain rule

  a certain test for a fallen mule.

  Intermission:

  Dreams Are Inherent

  He was floating through what appeared to be a land fill, the sickly redolent fragrance of rotten fruit and flesh wafted into his nostrils causing his head to ache in agonising ecstasy.

  His feet touched the ground and the Guy found he was walking on a soft peaty bog consisting of mucus substances that quivered like jelly and squelched. It was like wading in fetid cream cheese that had been left in the sun for several days.

  He glanced up and observed his surroundings; a vast marsh land stretched out for miles. He began to walk. After ambling for many miles the Guy eventually came to a gigantic crater filled with large mahogany leather eggs.

  The spores were perspiring and a moist fluid that had the aroma of sour grapes oozed from tiny pores in the organic shells; they pulsated and expelled steam that was calescent to the touch.

  In the inky alabaster sky the swollen Moon glowed like polished white gold reflecting the luminosity of a billion street lamps. On the edge of the crater he could see the silhouette of a person – a woman – like a bronze statue; motionless except for her long hair which flowed in a psychedelic Medusa like fashion.

  He knew it was Nancy immediately and he realised he must make his way to her. The Guy suddenly became awash with fear, he tried to find a way out of this hideous maze, his path to her had been lost and the ocean of eggs was as endless as the universe itself. Panic slapped him across his left cheek stinging him with tears, his body began to twist and spasm, writhing in deranged form.

  He became a perverted caricature of this world, screaming in high pitched wails and singing in strange languages. One by one the eggs began to hatch, grotesque creatures sprung forth, screeching, slashing their former homes, tearing each other apart in some obscene orgy of malice.

  The Guy let out insane laughter, opening his arms out to the heavens roaring to whatever daemons dwelled in the cosmic mountains. He was surrounded by the beasts that snarled and slobbered.

  The Man with the Emerald eyes could feel his flesh been torn from his bones. Somewhere in the gulf of time and space, he could hear the sadistic merriment of the High Occultist.

  “YOU SIT ON YOUR THRONE OF DREAMS, WEAVING YOUR TAPESTRY OF FATE, BUT I WILL BEAR THE AGONY. I WILL BEAR THE TORTURE TO SEE YOU MELT AT MY FEET!” He screamed into the night. (A slight sensation of vertigo.) All of a sudden, the scene began to disintegrate. There came a bass moan from some distant reality.

  Then everything was white.

  Act II

  City of the Aakmanu

  1

  An insalubrious drone cauterised his dreams, like a hot sword searing the flesh of an open wound. He sat up clumsily, an alcoholic losing his sober virginity. There was no grass surrounding him, no morning Sun beaming light onto his bedraggled brow. No city staring at him with metallic disregard. Instead there was a ceiling that throbbed with an unconventional rainbow of colours. The Guy wretched. As his fatigued eyes began to clear, he noticed something odd about the room he inhabited. The floor on which he lay felt doughy; like memory foam. The walls were morphing, narrowing and expanding. The ceiling began to rapidly produce fruity stalactites; protracting and retracting. The Guy developed a migraine, 33,000 fiendish imps chipping confusion into his brain.

  Suddenly the room was covered in darkness. Such a tranquil moment was never designed to last; 7 seconds passed and he was sucker punched by organic images.

  Towering buildings, concrete scars in the land, dots of light coming and going, the distressing audible of city ambience. The Guy dropped to his knees and pounded his fist on the floor, eyes closed. When he opened them the entire room had become transparent; he was floating hundreds of feet above the streets. A savage awareness of vertigo. Everything happened so quickly, but in his mind the imps slowed the cogs, bent the wheels and damaged the clocks; painfully slowing time. When he moved his hands they left a blurred trail behind in their wake. When he stood he felt weightless, yet his movements suggested he weighed an ungodly amount. Nausea washed over him again, the Guy’s knees buckled and he collapsed, vomiting as he descended like a wine addled whore.

  Whore. Don’t think of Nancy…you…can’t…afford…to…

  Then everything was black. His mind was empty. He lost consciousness again.

  2

  “So, this is he, El Vagabundo Misterioso. The mysterious wanderer. The walking number. How tasty.”

  He was too dazed to make out the 2 figures standing over him. The Guy was seated on a cold throne, probably made of marble. The talking ensued, a second voice entered his ears, this one he recognised as Karnack.

  “Apologies for leaving you in that torturous room, 1107. It is the purifying room, designed to cleanse both the body and mind.”

  The Guy tried to speak but sickness grabbed hold of his throat before the words could worm their way out. The first voice, unrecognisable, spoke again.

  “I am Ganeibyus, member of the Draconian race called Aakmanu.”

  Gradually his vision returned, unrecognisable began to take shape. A 9ft tall being clad in the finest bronze, a reptilian biped with glowing orange eyes that held emerald pupils, no more than slits that looked as if they had been etched in by a skilled surgeon. The Guy gazed in awe; his head swam with psychedelic unease.

  “No Human could ever comprehend our true form. You are something special though. I can smell the sands of unique worlds on your skin. Your eyes hold images that would cause aneurysms to form in society’s spine. The blood that courses through your veins is thick; a cocktail of potent DNA. I have read your story in exploding neurones and forming nebulas. Your biography is a vortex spiralling through time and space.”

  The Guy felt violated, never before has any person or creature seen into his soul. He could feel the beast’s eyes combing through his thoughts. Ganeibyus leaned in close to his face, their eyes met. A broad tongue protruded from the reptile’s snout and licked the Guy’s right cheek. The saliva was cold and glutinous like PVA glue.

  “I relish your perspiration 1107. Your scent, your taste. My kin and I would take great pleasure in using you in our sexual orgies; your desecrated flesh would melt exquisitely in our mouths. That, sadly, is not why you are here.”

  I know why I have been summoned here, foul beast, the Guy thought and Ganeibyus responded.

  “Good, then Karnack has served me well. This High Occultist has become a pest, mouldering vermin that should be squashed. He’s out there stirring up some kind of misfit army of retards and schizophrenics and plotting a ‘revolution.’ His plans will never work, many tried to fight us during our first days in this realm. All failed. The Aakmanu could swat this Patrick Holness like a meat fly right now, but my kin proposed a sport. Sending you out on a seek and destroy operation, a fight to the death.”

  The Guy’s eyes flared with indignation.

  Fuck you.

  “You will concur to this demand 1107; the death of certain people you grew fond of will spur you on, and curiosity as you so graciously informed me. Revenge and redemption hold hands in your heart. The only prize we will offer you is exile, but I’m sure that won’t faze a lonesome traveller like you.”

  Ganeibyus spun around and left the room, despite the lizard’s heavy duty appearance, it
walked with a silent grace. The Guy was left alone with Karnack.

  “Rest 1107. We have a gift prepared for you in honour of this great deed you will be carrying out for my masters. Your masters now. There will also be a briefing; information needs to be divulged about the High Occultist,” said Karnack, then he took his leave.

  “I have no masters,” the Guy replied

  3

  Time passed on his marble throne, to the Guy it seemed decades had passed unnoticed, his body felt aged. The fragility of his elderly years creeping upon him far too soon. His body refused to heat the marble; a constant contrast of temperature. He pondered his location, there was no doubt in his mind that he had been taken to the city; but where exactly, was a different matter.

  “Excellent, you have regained your ability to move,” Karnack returned for the first time since their conversation. The Guy eased himself out of the throne and took a couple of shaky steps forward. The room he now inhabited felt refreshing, the walls, floor and ceiling were a clean, sparkling white and the only discolouration was the ebony marble throne.

  “How long have I been here?” he asked, coughing to clear his throat.

  “Only 1 day. Aakmanu hypnosis has a strange effect on the mind, can make hours seem like years and can disable basic motor skills.”

  Freedom, something the Guy had forgotten. Never before had he felt like such a prisoner. Now he understood why Arabian Chiefs kissed the clay of the Earth when released from war prisons.

  “Follow me, 1107 and bear witness to you to your gift.”

  Karnack led the Guy out of his milky accommodation and into an industrial warehouse. There was a sudden change in mood; a foreboding grimness pounced upon him as he stepped into the grey, iron clad room. The place was empty save for a behemoth rectangular pool at the centre; it was filled with a transparent liquid, water maybe? Surrounding this pool was a high-reaching fence made from some kind of metal.

  The Guy felt a prickle of excitement; his instincts were telling him something horrifically beautiful will happen in this room. Karnack spread his arms and laid a smile upon his face.

  “Welcome to the Crystal Orchid. A place where fantasies are constructed into reality. A shape shifting room where your deepest desires are brought into this world. We have constructed this scenario for you 1107. Do not be fooled though, this is not a hologram you are inside. ‘There were mechanical bodies that carried aloft the environment, and let the Crystal Orchid seep inside.’ That was how the ancient text began. Our masters use an organic component called Hyper Intelligent Bacteria, a gas like cloud that is able to shape shift into anything its master desires by picking up mind frequencies telepathically.

  The Aakmanu use it to create Planets for experimentation, those Planets would be called Crystal Orchids. Some say the HIB was created by an ancient race known as the Biphanet (Family) from the world of Rylos. Others say that it has always been here, that maybe the HIB is God itself. The original creator. There is a belief that the universe once began as a nebula, a cloud of this bacteria. Then slowly, spanning years, the bacteria formed stars, planets, moons, asteroids and everything you have come to know. Does this make the Aakmanu Gods themselves? I think the answer is self-explanatory. They teach us that they were the first species created by the HIB, that their DNA is undiluted which explains why they can shape shift at will.”

  The Guy gazed in wonderment, he had never seen a room like it before, but what was going to happen? He felt a cold hand on his shoulder, he turned and stared at Ganeibyus, those reptilian eyes regarded him in apathy.

  “The industrial lagoon you are looking at contains a combination of Fluoroantimonic acid and water, the basin which holds the corrosive is made from lead with a thick layer of fluorocarbon plastic. The fence is also made from lead and the floors are an angel cake of lead and concrete.”

  This sudden revelation caused the Guy to lift his arm over his nose and mouth.

  “You bastards! Are you trying to corrode my innards with the fumes?!”

  “Be still dear friend, the Hyper Intelligent Bacteria does not make such trivial mistakes. This room is fume free and pure fantasy.”

  He slowly lowered his arm, not sure if he should trust them but feeling like he had no choice. Ganeibyus averted his eyes upwards, 22 feet above the pool was a broad plank that was connected to one of the upper levels. A naked male was being ushered forward along it.

  “Meet Bruce Wozniak, a former patient of Bachman Gardens, he escaped from there after the electrical failure. Wasn’t he next on your list after you erased Derek Billank?”

  The Guy nodded in agreement.

  “We thought, as gratitude for your fine work we would seek him out and bring him to you. Would you like to regale him in a few words?” Asked Karnack. The Guy took 3 steps forward and spoke in a raised voice. When the words fell out of his mouth, Bruce looked down in petrified realisation.

  “Bruce. You spend your time on frivolous thoughts. You proclaim your babble to be an importance to the world, yet, I have seen through your eyes. Even from down here I can perceive your soul as an entity worth dying. Stave the screams; stave the lust to masturbate your right to talk for it will do you no good in the essence of life.”

  The Guy turned to Ganeibyus and nodded, Ganeibyus in turn nodded to someone above. Bruce Wozniak was shoved off the plank and plummeted to his fate. His severe, distressing fate.

  4

  There I was, on the brink of mankind’s evolution. Mastering my qualities, observing the fantasies left behind in shards of past memories. Bleeding my arteries of their poison.

  The sun peered out from behind the skyscrapers, in that moment he could feel the Hyper Intelligent Bacteria at work on the world. Sauntering through the streets, the Guy tried to find a way out of the City. He decided he did not want to be in that place any longer. Across the street a man who looked like a plastic figurine poured hot wax onto his bronze, trimmed body smiling insanely as he tried to sell a cream that protected the skin from severe burns.

  If only Bruce had been wearing that.

  Oh how evolution amazed him; a species works its way from a single celled organism, through billions of years, only to finish up like this. Madness. All madness.

  ‘Insanity will reign.’ He had once read.

  ‘Before the end there is only insanity.’

  But who’s end? His? Or the world’s?

  The wax man stumbled backwards as his cream failed to produce solid results, he screeched and tripped over himself causing him to land in a deep puddle of rain water. The sound his topless body making contact with the fluid ignited the memory of Bruce’s tormented death within his mind.

  5

  There was a hideous splash as Bruce belly flopped into the pool; followed by cacophonous screams that sent shivers through the Guy’s upper arms and shoulders. The noise was cut off suddenly.

  “He’s not dead,” Ganeibyus spoke, resting his scaly hand on the Guy’s quivering shoulder. “The shock is too much for his body, see him breathing rapidly. Mistake.”

  They saw Bruce spasm in the acid, his skin was glowing crimson and forming deformed blisters. He jolted, then let out another shriek which was once again cut off, this time by him swallowing the corrosive liquid. Bruce’s body thrashed in a frenzied fight for survival. Ganeibyus continued:

  “Now his body and brain have had time to register the situation, he begins to struggle to stay alive. He knows deep down he is doomed to an agonising death.”

  Bruce swam clumsily to the edge of the pool and grabbed hold of the lead fence with mottled paws, he tried to hoist himself out, and confused, gargled babbles of pain exited his mouth. The Guy saw skin peeling from Bruce Wozniak’s hands. Blood and puss leaked from cracks in his skin. A lucid, rouge tinge stained the transparent liquid.

  “Can you see, 1107? He starts to realise it is hopeless.”

  Bruce’s eyes bled profusely; slowly they began to dissolve, oozing out of their sockets. He clawed at his face, the screams
became choked, and the Guy saw chunks of flesh floating in the acid.

  Tingles: the Guy felt them all over, especially through his spine and crotch. The scene pleased him, but amidst those pleasurable sensations was an underlying unease. He had killed many people in his long years, the vast majority of those deaths he had enjoyed but occasionally there would be the odd one or two regrets. Nothing that would keep him awake at nights. This was different; watching Bruce Wozniak dissolve alive in a swimming pool of Fluoroantimonic acid would haunt him for the rest of his days. He would have to prepare for the dreams.

  Death is a disjointed process. It is chaotic. Without prejudice or cause. When death strikes, you either draw the long straw or the short. The long being a peaceful death at some ripe old age. The short being painful, slow and coming way too early. Bruce was 49 years old and it took him 1 hour and 29 minutes to die. At the end all there remained of him was a watery cloud of copper, dark fillets of flesh floating hither and thither and partially sunken bones that looked like cheap rubber gimmicks from a joke shop.

  Bruce had always drawn the short straw when it came to his destiny. He was framed by his wife of 30 years for the murder of his new born granddaughter who had been found asphyxiated in the wash basket. At the Island Prison a guard named Pilchard Bloom stated he found Bruce passed out in his cell after attempting to commit suicide. Bloom said it was one of the most horrific things he has ever encountered in his 15 year stretch as a guard. According to Bloom, Bruce had furiously grated his fingers against the cell wall in a bizarre attempt to bleed to death. Bruce did not die, instead he found himself very much alive with no finger nails, just stumps. He also found himself being taken to Bachman Gardens where he prayed every night to the old Gods to take him away. He did not want to live in a world where people could murder children and frame their loved ones for the crime. Essentially, the Aakmanu and the Guy had answered Bruce’s worn out prayers.