CHAPTER 4

The Man in the Gray Hat




"We’ve finished torturing your son Sir, there’s nothing more he can tell us."
"Let me see the boy." Replied a man in a gray hat.
"Of course, Sir. The peon retrieved a cell phone and turned on its screen, then handed it to the man in the gray hat. The screen showed a boy curled up naked on the white floor of a completely white room. He was making guttural noises and speaking fragments of childlike gibberish. The boy was Ray.
"He seems to be doing quite well. Are you sure he’s one of my sons?"
"Yes Sir." Said the peon.
"Very well, move him to the next stage."
"Yes sir... and what would you have done with the woman? She has remained resilient against the LSD and electrotherapy treatment."
"Has she contributed information?"
"Yes, but nothing useful. We believe her contact with the demon whore was minimal."
"All right, get her hooked on heroin and let her out Thursday. Report back to me if the boy passes stage 2."
"Yes Sir." , and the peon left.
The man in the gray hat stared at a computer screen on the wall. It was like a map of the world with millions of red dots glowing all over at. He looked annoyed, and then creepy, and then reflective. He made a strange high-pitched sound with his voice, it was the sound of a demented bird, and then another peon entered the room, "Yes Sir?"
"Have we found anymore on the name?"
"No Sir, just Patricia, Sir."
"What about the origin?"
"No Sir, just a general inclination within the western continents. We are trying to break down the blood type and race."
"We should have the information by now."
"I’m sorry Sir, but the name isn’t connecting properly with the machine. The personality trait we’re searching for does not exist with the name Patricia at this time."
"Does it exist at all Mr. Peon?"
"It does, but not with a name, Sir. Just an expression. In fact, it’s a rather ironic match."
"What’s the match?"
"Who R U, Sir."
The man in the gray hat stared as if considering the peon to be an illusion. Catching his gaze, the peon spoke quickly.
"The only match we found was the word "Who" followed by the letter "R" followed by the letter "U". It’s nothing we’ve seen before, Sir."
"Leave me now Peon, but return if you learn anything new."
The peon left.
The man in the gray hat noticed that the peon didn’t address him before its departure. Something was very wrong and he knew it had something to do with demonic powers. A demonic whore in fact. One whom he’d have to track down, and one whom he’d seen before. His machines displayed her image from the boy’s mind and he recognized her immediately. Where she was now he hadn’t a clue, but she had to be found. Along with this nameless personality trait, she had to be contained.
His high-pitched screech filled the room and another peon entered, "Yes Sir?"
"Send out cameras upon everyone with the first full name Patricia on the western continents. Let me know what you find."
"Yes Sir", and the peon left.
The peon’s were full flesh and blood human beings, but to reach their level of trustworthiness they had 96.86% of their personality conditioned out. The remaining 3.14% could not be removed without a partial shutdown of motor skills. "And what good is a peon without motor skills?", the man in the gray hat would ask himself. He was the top dog at his level of where he was, which is something I’m not completely aware of just now. He is part of a network that is rapidly changing life in this known world. That is, the world Sir Jane, Jimmy, Ray and Pat have in common. In fact, anyone mentioned in this story has this world in common.




This World in Common




Time passed since I first met Jimmy in the alleyway. I’m not sure how much time passed because I didn’t live where people knew time anymore. I lived in abandoned buildings and I traveled the sewers at night.
The majority of people stayed inside their apartment buildings or condos or tenement houses. They rarely left at all... in fact, when they left, sometimes they came back and sometimes they didn’t. The usual people found outside were the extended Peace Force. They were comprised of former police officers and former gang members. The two massive groups joined in a quiet, tension filled public event one afternoon. The President, claimed from the television, to have finally made a plausible arrangement toward peace. "The extended Peace Force was formed to make people feel comfortable while they work", he said. They made personal visits to offices with orders of coffee, drugs or lunch. They had equipment to allow people to pay for their purchases with a credit card. They escorted people to work and back when morning came or night fell. Most people thought there just wasn’t anything else for them to do with this newly declared peace, but others of us had our suspicions.
A week before the Peace Force announcement, or maybe it was a month before, the first original black man showed up at me and Jimmy’s apartment with the Wall Street Journal. He showed us a small article in the middle of the paper called "Highest Profits to Lowest Growth in a Century". The article said that in the past two years the major corporations have yielded all-time high profits, right off the map, and at the same time business growth receded dramatically... for the past three years. Unemployment was now at a record high 30% in the USA. I knew it was scary but I didn’t know why, so he explained it to us.
"The gap between the rich and poor has widened 60% in the last five years. At that rate there won’t be a middle-class in a year from now. 30% of the population will be pampered while 70% will be trying to get by."
Jimmy looked over with an unserious but unamused stare on his face. He kind of looked like a bum after somebody told him they didn’t have any change. He said, "You’ve known about this for awhile. Don’t you remember?..", then he flailed his arms up in the air and blurted, "Same as it ever was!" The first original black man smiled in agreement and then they both started laughing hysterically. They started throwing out one-liners in mid-laughter that didn’t make too much sense to me, like...
Ha Ha Ha... "After all, we chose to come here." Ha Ha Ha Hee Hee Hee. Then both together, "Oops..." Har Har Har. "I was starting to feel my age anyway!" Ha Ha Ha.
Somewhere in mid laugh, the first original black mans’ gaze caught the obviously confused looked in mine. He stopped laughing and his glowing eyes spoke to my mind as his voice spoke to my ears. "Hey man, I know you’re confused. The world does seem to be coming to an end right now, but it doesn’t end here. After we evaporate from this world we’ll hook up with another one right after."
Jimmy jumped in, "Actually, were constantly hooked in. You see, we’re... Oh sorry, I’m getting off on a tangent- go on..."
I talked first, "What, do you mean the world is coming to an end?"
The first original black man replied, "It’s coming to an end in the way that we know it. I’m not sure if it’s going to blow up or not, but a small part of the world is making a play to absorb all other parts of the world. I’m not sure if it is going to succeed but a huge change will occur any way that it goes. In one hand a minority will oppress the majority in a way we’ve never known before- and that’s Exodus and the Holocaust included. Me and Jimmy have noticed how rapidly the population has changed around us from implemented addictions. Soft drugs, detached sex, status quo programming. People are isolated in their boxes and their boxes are containing them."
I knew all this but I was getting excited anyway, "So what can we do about it?" Him and Jimmy chuckled, then the first original black man looked at me and said, "First, let that part of you who is writing this in some other reality refer to me less formally. Let that part of you who is writing call me Darkwing, I like the sound of that."
I thought, ‘Whatever’. That part sorta flew over my head. Then he said, "Second, is that there is nothing we can do about it really, the change is coming. Take this country for example. When America successfully broke away from England, that former part of England destroyed the culture of the land that it escaped too. Papa got a brand new bag but it was full of old tricks, and that’s the way it’s always been. You, Jimmy and I are living at the brink of a new change, a change in the world order." He looked up and over for a brief second and then back at me... the light blinding me, "There’s going to be new slaves and slave owners, and with it the tension that surrounds pain but on a larger scale. The world is so connected now it won’t be fixed on any particular region; it’ll have the entire collective reality... Unless that girl of yours has anything up her sleeve." Jimmy broke in, "Yeah, Sir Jane. She’s a hell of a trooper, I mean...Well, who knows?"
"What do you mean about Sir Jane?", I asked. Jimmy looked over at Darkwing and then said, "I’ve had quite a few visions that I believe are connecting her with the state of things now, or maybe what’s to come." Then under his breath, "even though there really is no difference... Well, you see... Sir Jane is a kind of uhh..."
"She’s a changeling.", Darkwing broke in, "but as she reacts to her environment, it in turn reacts to her... And on a scale that we haven’t noticed or remembered ever occurring before.", he looked back at Jimmy, and they both exchanged an "I don’t know what to say?" series of glances until Jimmy looked at me sheepishly and said, "We’re not sure if we’re crazy or not, but we’re both doing the best we can with what we believe is right. Nobody knows much about your friend, but we do know she seems special. Both of us feel like we know what’s going on, because of vague memories of what we think are alternate or past lives. I remember having my head cut off 600 years ago in Ireland, and he remembers being sent to the New World on a boat with shackles on his feet. It’s hard to describe really, but all this stuff seems ultra familiar to both of us!" Darkwing agreed, "Yeah, it’s like we’re reliving the same lifetime over and over again in different clothes. Now we wear clothes of the streetwalker...", and then he smiled at Jimmy and said, "and we don’t seem to have the sense to get drunk every day doing it." They went off on a laughing tangent again. I was thinking about Sir Jane, staring at me with blood smeared on her mouth. Looking quite harmless really... It was strange... And I can’t help calling her Sir Jane in my head. When it would seem like just Jane would work.













The Story of the Times.




When the laughing quieted down they got serious again and told me about what they thought was happening. So here’s what I learned about the times we were living in.
As far as I could figure. Addiction to reality is the reason for all problems in our world. I knew I was part of the Spirit type of existence as much as Jimmy and Darkwing. But I just didn’t believe in it as much as they did. Maybe it’s cause I’m younger, I don’t know, but I do know that I have furthered control of my mind since meeting them- or was it since meeting Sir Jane? I’m not afraid of being rejected anymore, which was probably why I was so scared of everything before. I ejected myself from that world, or perhaps the way I viewed it. I left the box that I was raised to believe in.
That box is a relative reflection of the story of the Times. That box still has so many minds attached to it, conforming to the circuitry that monitors and manages our lives. They said, it’s no particular person’s fault or group’s fault for that matter. There was no evil conspiracy to make the entire world fit into a preferred category. One group simply took charge of all others, because the others weren’t strong enough to compete with it. That group wasn’t a country either or particularly powerful people joining together. It was a collective mind set. It was just a common perception that failed to change as most perceptions do, but this perception was dominant when global communication became completely active. The world began to view itself.
This perception or grouping of perceptions was the outcome of all existence, up to that point. The perception was shaped by the primal instincts of survival. It changed as the need to survive changed. When basic survival lost rank on the things to do today list, quality of survival took its place.
Darkwing had said, "Way back in the earliest stages, in the first stages, ownership was very minimal. Everyone had their place around the fire with a few trinkets used for eating or other necessities, but they didn’t think about what they owned too often. It seemed natural that everyone had about the same. There were always one or two people in every tribe or clan that didn’t share this view. You’d notice a tiny bit of extra food at their place- at that time, barely noticeable. Maybe they’d borrow a tool and not return it because it was more convenient to have an extra around. Whatever the case was it had virtually no effect on other people then. It was such a minimal excess."
"After thousands of years you could tell the effects though. With the thrill of survival gradually wearing off the desire for dominance took more of a foothold. That small percentage found more reason to take just a little bit more. The more they owned the more they were perceived as dominant by the group. This in turn gave them more influence over others in the group. Inventions came along, new systems of organizing. With these, that small percentage, 3.14% in fact, had a hand in just about all of it. When heroes were created they posted the religion that followed each death. When the cotton gin was created to ease the labor of slaves, they took advantage of the technology to push slaves even harder. Today you can see the progression of the mind set and how it has claimed dominance in the modern world. The perception affects almost everyone now. I think it’s possible to say that the perception has claimed just over 96% of the regular population in the industrialized world... and that is how He appeared."
The person Darkwing had mentioned was the man in the gray hat. He said the man was more of a symbol than a real human being. Something formed from the obstruction in the fabric of our reality. Jimmy had heard of him in a few visions he had. He said the man was like a catalyst, a guiding factor of perfect dominance. No one had ever heard of him in the general public but the national leaders were all obeying his commands. "I don’t know if he actually talks to them or manufactures thoughts with mind control, but he gets through to them.", Jimmy had said, "I wonder if he even communicates with them at all. Perhaps just his existence is an influence in itself."
Well, getting back to the source of the man in the gray hat... Getting back to the perception that is now overwhelming all. It’s not simply a perception that is shared by those who hold the most exterior power, it is a mind set that is becoming prevalent in all human minds. Or, it would be more accurate to say it is consuming the human part of the universal mind.
The Others, who are the unnoticed guides or healers for humanity, are being weeded out at an extreme rate. If you remember from before, they are introverted characters that do not fit the mold. They bring forth new ideas for common people. People embrace these new differences and this changes the fabric of our reality. When a knot occurs in the fabric, it is always an Other who combs it out... Always...



The Falling of the Others




Che’ra Gonzalez was a big boned Latino girl growing up in the projects with her grandmother. Her grandmother had lost her husband 10 years earlier in a car accident. Che’ra’s mother also died in that accident. Now Che’ra was 14 years old and had been a gang member for two years. She was part of the Latin Kings, and according to her she was the best part. Everyone she hung out with knew she thought this way and they told her she’d probably get killed because of it. Somehow they liked her attitude anyway when she said, "I understand I’m just a few fucking numbers to the right of the decimal. The Kings are the whole and I’m not, but... if I was the only subatomic particle in existence of the Kings, I would be lonely- but I would be right."
They would just stare at her in confusion and someone would say, "What the fuck you ask’n ‘bout the right of some decimal, I mean..." She’d break in, "The mantissa is what you call the right of the decimal. That’s what we all are... Just a drop of blood in a body. If it was up to me, The Kings would be joined up into one massive body... Instead of just so much blood from one." Her comments like this would go over well- not so much because the others agreed with her, but because she spoke like she really knew her shit.
The secret to her respect was started by her grandmother. Grandmother knew nothing about Che’ra’s dad ‘cause he split when she was born, but she made a dad up for her. She said that Che’ra’s dad was the smartest man in the world. She said that Che’ra’s mom used to do housekeeping at a convention center in the city and she came home one night very late but very happy. Well, grandmother just happened to notice that there was a quantum physics convention going on that night where her mom was working. She said, "Your mother loved brilliant men...you know, that’s why I think she took that job in the first place. You know your mother was brilliant- I bet she fell in love with Albert Einstein for a few lovely hours. I wish I was brilliant; I can’t even understand this quantum physics for dummies book I’m borrowing." A nine year old Che’ra would reply, "Maybe I can help you understand it." This pleased her grandmother very much because for years after her husband died she was obsessed with quantum physics and now she had someone to teach the basics to. (The whole reason the grandmother studied quantum physics was because her late husband resembled Albert Einstein a bit and besides– she was brilliant.)
The grandmother was a good teacher. She explained the hologram concept of reality using one of those handheld cartoon projectors and of course TV. She retrieved books on tape from the library every week and even taught Che’ra advanced mathematical calculation processes. Che’ra learned to multiply three digit numbers together in her head.
Now all of this knowledge she accumulated since nine years old was hidden from her teachers and peers. Her grandmother was deathly afraid of the outside world, what with all the changes over the past five or ten years. She was afraid of Che’ra being used as a tool because she was turning out to be quite brilliant. Che’ra on the other hand, being brilliant, began to develop concepts on her own. At 12 years old she gained a certain knowledge of herself. It was a fairly simple idea. She thought, "I think I’m the smartest person in the world at this time, and I want to do something special."
So at the age of 12 she went up to some 16-18 year olds in the schoolyard, (whom she knew were gang members) and said, "If I can tell how old you all are combined within 30 seconds can I join the Latin Kings?" They cracked up laughing and a few of them were like, "Yeah, sure... go ahead." There were eight of them. There were two18 year olds, three 17 year olds, two 16 year olds, and one 15 year old. It took them about 10 seconds to say their ages, and it took another 15 for her to add them all up. "134 years old. Together you’re the oldest person that ever lived." They knew she was right- just from the way she said it, but they took some time to make sure and cracked up laughing again. This news got to the OG’s that same day and maybe because of the novelty of it all, she was inducted into the Latin Kings.
Che’ra had a plan going into the Latin Kings. She had very few doubts about being let into the group because people reacted well to intelligence if it was used in the right way. She visualized herself in before hand anyway. Her plan was to do some good in a bad place. She just wanted to see if it was possible. She’d seen people dead in her neighborhood before. She’d heard of kids just about her age killing and getting killed, but she was familiar with Einstein’s theories of social and individual reform. She was familiar with group mentality and individual power dynamics, along with the principles of fight or flight. She felt like she was prepared to take a step forward... into the unknown.
The first thing she did was spend a few hours after school at the chemistry room. She opened up a pair of dice and coated the inside with metal and then she put a small piece of magnet inside. It stuck to one of the six inner walls. She sealed the dice up and carefully coated the outside so it didn’t look tampered with. She could control the outcome of the dice by rubbing another piece of magnet over the outside of the die. The inner metal fragment would switch to another wall on the inside assuring that chosen number to be weighted down. All she had to do was pick the number on the opposite wall and it was a guaranteed pick.
The dice became a part of her plan. She used them to make decisions around her fellow gang members as often as she could. Her first goal was to convince everyone that the outcomes of her dice were completely random.
Example: being in the Latin Kings was no pretty business for anyone of any age. People were getting drunk, fighting, and just causing mild forms of destruction at every angle. One of these forms was the destruction of cleanliness at parties. Everybody would be getting "fucked up" from partying at something like a Latin Kings frat house, leaving the place a real mess. Of course the most recent initiates would be in charge of cleaning all of it up. This included cleaning up vomit just after an incident. Che’ra was part of this newlywed group, so she spent some time scrubbing piss, shit, and vomit off of floors and walls. One of the OG’s knew she had some dice on her so he’d give her a chance to role herself out of cleanup detail. She’d get a die out, guess a number for all to hear and promptly lose. Sometimes somebody would let her try another die and she’d get that wrong also. This losing was done on purpose and it produced the effect she desired. One of the worst things in their world was cleaning up vomit and scrubbing shit, so her dice were considered random and plain.
Her whole reputation followed that way. She played her cards perfectly. She was partially reserved, cautiously outspoken and not too cocky, but playfully confident. Within a few months she had real responsibility.
Just after her one-year anniversary with the King’s, Che’ra asked to be a part of The Death Squad. You could’ve called it a retaliation squad or preventative measure group– whatever... it was a vortex of violence. Che’ra knew this– she kept track of homicides in her head, where and when... how. After her success with the alleviation of violent outbursts brought about by improper zoning structures, she became obsessed with minimizing homicide statistics. She could tell by the numbers that the apex was within The Death Squad. She was compelled to jump in.
Her first outing with The Death Squad was almost too much for her. She witnessed the group, that she was now part of, torture a drug addicted girl of about 26. They broke her pinkies and cut her face up with a knife, just enough to scar. Unfortunately the girl didn’t own anything of value, but she owed a lot of money. Che’ra also witnessed a kid get shot dead. He owed more money than the girl had and he tried to deny that he was high.
At 13 years old Che’ra began to truly grasp the hologram concept of quantum theory. She could feel how unreal reality was around her and she could understand herself as a projection into it from somewhere else. She stayed on as part of The Death Squad and tried to view the horrors around her in a way that a programmer would view a computer virus. She learned and she prepared for it- and then it came.
"Che’ra, it’s time for you to grow up. Pop his ass!" Her squad leader stared at her, sizing up her reaction. She casually looked down at the middle aged man lying face down on the floor, hands bound behind his back. He was crying to himself and pleading in whispers the way most of them had. Che’ra looked at her OG and matter of factly said, "Give me the gun." She leaned down and said to the victim, "Unlike some barbarians, I am what you’d call a spiritually minded individual." She cocked the gun and put it to his head. Her manner was calm, cool and collected. A touch cold blooded- the manner her peers were conditioned to respect from television and movies. She pulled out a die, "I do not claim to be your God so I will let your God decide your fate for you. It’s only appropriate that a die will decide your fate... Don’t you think?"
The other members of the squad were awestruck. She seemed so badass. It was like a scene from a movie. Che’ra held up the die and commanded, "Choose your number. If it turns up your way, you save yourself... if it turns up any other way you condemn yourself." He was scared and pleaded for a while but she kept on him. He blurted out, "Odds! I choose odds." Like a mother explaining something calmly to a child she said, "You have to choose one number, your number." He wouldn’t say anything until she spoke, "Alright, you made your choice..." and she began to push the gun against his head and squeeze. He blurted out, "Five... Oh God please don’t..." Che’ra smiled coldly and held the die in her right fist. There was a ring on her index finger that only she knew was made of magnetic material. She rolled the die and it turned up five. Everybody exclaimed, "Shit... that’s one lucky son of a bitch...You one lucky punk..." The OG said to Che’ra, "Throw it down again." She threw it down again and it came up a three. After that he seemed satisfied and they took their leave. They didn’t untie the guy, but they didn’t kick him either. In their minds something divine had happened and Che’ra was at the center of it all.
Over that year she saved 12 lives and gained what you might call followers of her belief system. She explained to them that if we were all aware of our true selves we could do anything, but we’re not so we don’t... except in really stressful situations.
After her second year she had major factions of the most powerful gangs working together on a regular basis. There were large party warehouses used just for the mediation of conjoining gangs. They were decorated with colors from the multiple gangs that met there and celebrities were lured with pomp and the promise of street credibility. Gang leaders were quick to agree with security precautions because if they didn’t they wouldn’t be able to hang out with celebrities. These measures took different forms. Many of the more trusted and respected members were taught advanced psychology and mediation skills. They were granted the title "Shaman" because they were also authorized to oversee hallucinogenic ceremonies. At first the ceremonies were used as strict therapy sessions called "Evolvements" which helped gang members approach problems by thinking outside of the box, but they gradually changed form to incorporate consumer relations training, productivity learning, and a whole slew of behavior conditioning treatments.
The new development freaked Che’ra out! Somebody was influencing her program without her knowledge and it was undermining everything she had worked towards. Not only were gang members being conditioned into the present mindless societal structure; but someone had invited police, politicians, and military officials to the celebrity filled gang parties... but she knew the parties were organized by gang members. They were supposed to remain exclusively– gang members!
Che’ra began to ask questions of those who were "officially" above her authority. She tried to play it cool with an attitude of being pissed off that The Man was around. She asked, "Who let Uncle Sam start showing up to our parties?" And she’d always get a similar reply like, "All I can tell you is that Uncle Sam has been invited from above, so you better keep your eyes to the ground- cause there’s a lot above you and a lot you wont know." Or maybe something like, "Che’ra, what’re ya so pissed about? You let your brains get to your head. You’re gonna go crazy if you don’t chillax."
Well, Che ra didn’t like these explanations and started running her mouth off regularly saying, "I’m the last of the Latin Kings... I’m the last one underground... it’s lonely here... still paying the bills for my dying family."
After a payroll with a 60 hour work week was instituted for "Gang Employees" Che’ra was bound and gagged then sent off to a special hallucinogenic ceremony. She was untied in a single padded white room and stood face to face with just her grandmother.
"Grandmother, what are you doing here?", she blurted out.
"Che’ra, the doctors say I may only have a little more time. They told me you didn’t mean to put it in my head and I believe them but I’ll"
"Put what in your head?"
"The tumor, Che’ra. My brain tumor."
"What do you mean about them saying I put a tumor in your head?’
"They said you’d act like you didn’t know. But Che’ra, it was an accident. I love you... No matter what."
Che’ra was blinded by her own tears for about a minute. She felt like chemicals were streaming through her body and it clicked with her that she was under the influence of hallucinogenics. A rage boiled up inside of her and she screamed as she opened her eyes, "You’re not my grandmother!" But it was her grandmother, at least it was part of her grandmother.
Her grandmother’s head was suspended from the ceiling by electrical wiring at just about the height where her grandmother would stand. There was nothing below the neck except a small motor generating movement in the eyes and mouth similar to spasms that occur in a recently killed fish. It was her grandmother’s head alright- and that was precisely why Che’ra wouldn’t believe it.
"You are not my grandmother! I want my grandmother! You’re not my grandmother!"
She screamed over and over again as she tried to push herself through the white padded walls. Screaming and completely out of her mind... as he looked on...with a slight sense of victory in his gaze.
Che’ra was coherent after a few days and had only one request for the man in the gray hat- that no harm would come to her grandmother. He told her that she would never see her grandmother again but Che’ra didn’t mind... and as long as no harm came to her Che’ra would do what he requested.
And that she did! By the time she was 15, Che’ra successfully merged all major gang operations with Uncle Sam’s military and police force. She was on a new mission now... to protect her grandmother. It was almost unbearable that she would never get to see her again, but she wrote a letter to her every day. She knew the man in the gray hat would bring them to her. She knew he would keep her alive and happy, because Che’ra would keep him alive, and keep him happy.



Another Other and His Unraveling


Domingo Carter Santiago believed in super powers. He wasn’t sure whether his love for comics came first, or if he developed that love because he had latent super powers. Whatever way you choose to look at it, between 8 and 18 years of age, he formed a belief system based on developing this potential. He felt like he had to build strong character because super powers would only be entrusted to someone worthy of the responsibility. Domingo also forced himself to take risks so if he ever did begin to develop powers, he’d become aware of it. These risks involved athletic feats such as skateboarding, climbing things and leaping off of them, and getting lost on purpose. Other risks involved potential dangers such as defending his fellow human friends from each other. From 8 until 12 he was pretty sloppy. He was afraid to continue skateboarding because he broke his leg and had countless bruises and scratches. He tried to interfere with a bully and it’s prey but ended up running away from the bully himself. He felt that these were un-ideal outcomes and a negative reflection of his character. Since he was so hard on himself, those first couple of years were a real struggle. Luckily, with the struggling came redemption, and more appropriately the redemption was recognized.
Paco Letule had 15 years to Domingo’s 12 and it showed in the size of each. He had pushed Domingo around before and lets put it this way- Domingo wouldn’t dare...
Now one fateful day Domingo was skating down a pretty steep hill out next to the junkyard when he saw Paco pushing some kid up against a dumpster. Paco had his henchmen around and you could tell the kid was doomed. Not only that, but the kid was even smaller than Domingo! That set something on fire inside of him. At that very moment, Domingo wiped out at the bottom of the hill and it was a bad one. He softened the impact of a barrel that he slammed into by contorting his body with the force of the blow. He managed to absolve quite a bit of the impact although he slid across 6 feet of gravel. One side of his face grazed over the gravel also. As he lay there he realized that he wasn’t in that bad of shape. Some of his flesh was stinging, and some of his muscles were bruised but he avoided getting really "hurt". He had practiced softening blows for years up to that point, falling off his skateboard regularly. He happened to save himself falling down a tree once, managing to fall into some lower branches before hitting the ground. He was a little banged up from smacking the branches but the ground would’ve been hell. It occurred to Domingo that this was a power of sorts... He had the ability to soften impact.
Domingo picked himself off of the gravel floor as Paco and his henchmen dropped their victim into the dumpster. They were about to close the lid on the kid when a piece of gravel hit Paco on the forehead. He grabbed his head, cursing out loud and then turned around. They winced when they saw Domingo walk towards them. Half of his face was covered in blood so you could barely see his eye, and he was smiling.
When Paco smacked him in the face it wasn’t so bad ‘cause he shifted his head to an angle that suffered little impact- and it was nothing compared to the fall he had just taken. Domingo struck back after each blow with whatever he had. He stayed out of Paco’s grasp cause that would have done him in. They fought for over an hour as the henchmen watched on. The 2 were standing there, breathing heavily and out of breath, when Paco muttered, "Tired...We’ll do this later on... and I’m your worst nightmare." He walked away and the henchmen followed, but they had to look upon Domingo one more time because of the miracle they just witnessed. No one that small lasted Paco before. When they were out of view, the victim climbed out of the dumpster staring in awe at Domingo. He said matter-of- factly, "You’re my hero.", then walked off.
The next 4 years progressed handsomely for Domingo. Word got around that he had an equal fight with Paco, although Paco told everyone that he let Domingo off because of his skateboard injury. It didn’t matter though because over the next 4 years Domingo learned to master his power of lessening impact. He became quite a skateboarder because he learned to fall with incredible efficiency. He was obsessed with falling from all angles and extremes so that he could take risks that others weren’t able to. This made him quite an enigma among the skateboarding crowd, but there was something else that made him a hero. Whenever he noticed the strong picking on the weak he would step in. If only to draw the attention and a few punches onto himself from the intended victim, he put himself between them with a smile. It was a slightly hysterical smile but the other skateboarders understood it. Everyone at the school understood it in some way, and that’s how he began to rise above.
It wasn’t easy. The bullies rarely worked alone and he was held down and pummeled by them a few times. In fact, after awhile he was beaten up about once a week. Luckily for him, bullies don’t get instant gratification from beating someone up who doesn’t cry or complain. Another fact was that they were afraid of him. Even laying there on the ground bleeding, that fixed stare burned into them and developed a respect they couldn’t hide. They talked about him among themselves and admitted they were confused. Eventually the bullies felt shameful when he caught them pushing somebody around. They’d whisper, "There’s Domingo" and then stare off somewhere or maybe try to hide the kid behind them. This became a real big problem for them from Domingo’s 16th birthday through to his 18th. For those last 2 years of high school they rarely picked on anyone because it made them feel too much like horrible villains.
Domingo was a hell of a fighter by then. Rarely did he go down without taking a few of them with him. He was becoming quite a celebrity at school although he purposefully remained a loner, training for his mission in life. His celebrity was quite a mix of perceptions. Some kids thought he was like a hero, and some thought he was crazy, but there were also quite a few who thought he was just plain weird.
One fateful day Paco’s little brother went to school after having a big fight with his dad, so he was upset to the beyond degree. He saw this kid swinging on the swing set and was compelled towards him. Paco’s brother wasn’t really a bully, but sometimes he did act out when he was emotionally exhausted. Paco had stopped picking on him a year before and the way he changed made a big impact on the younger one. Paco had broke down crying saying, "You’re my brother, I shouldn’t hit you! I should protect you! Don’t be like me. Be like Domingo, be like Domingo... and you’ll be better than me!" Well, Paco’s brother couldn’t be like Domingo just then. He wanted to hit something but decided he wouldn’t go that far. He’d just scare this kid on the swing, and that’s what he did. He started pushing the kid on the swing, and the kid didn’t say anything at first but then he pushed him higher and higher and the kid yelled, "Stop. Please stop it!" Paco’s brother didn’t stop though until he heard Domingo’s voice right behind him, "Hey, you’re Paco’s brother, right?"
Just the recognition was too much for him. He screamed at Domingo, "Why do you hate us? What did we ever do to you?", and then he ran off crying hysterically until a guidance counselor intercepted him. This was the beginning of Domingo’s downfall.
Paco’s brother described the legend of Domingo to the guidance counselor in all of its brilliance. In turn, the guidance counselor told the story to the principal in quite an admiring way. Immediately after, the guidance counselor was fired. Apparently the counselor wasn’t sound of mind enough to recognize the legendary story of a very disturbed young man.
Domingo was pulled from the 12th grade after several interviews were collected from students who knew or knew of him. It appeared that he made quite an impression with a countless number of people. Unfortunately, the board of directors interpreted the situation as Domingo misleading innocent children into self destructive behavior and denial of reality. Of course he couldn’t help himself... so someone would have to help him help himself. A new counselor was appointed to Domingo and helped him through his ordeal every day at a federal institution.
"There’s no such things as super heros Domingo"
"Why do you take risks Domingo, do you hate yourself?"
"You haven’t been developing abilities that are above natural. You’ve suffered physical damage Domingo. Aren’t super heros supposed to be more than human?"
"Kids tend to respect what they don’t understand. You were misleading them. You can’t act in a way that you don’t fully understand. That will lead to irrational decisions, and that always leads to destruction, Domingo. Why do you think you’re here?"
"Domingo, life is about being responsible for yourself and your family. You should above all be responsible to your job and God willing, your country. Responsibility beyond that is an illusion created from an imaginative disease."
"Purpose is ordained from your parents and your occupational gifts."
"Paco’s brother. You remember what happened... He’s doing OK now but that was a close call. He almost suffered a major mental breakdown... and we know you wouldn’t have wanted that."
After 19 days and a year he closed up. Domingo remained at the institution in a self induced haze. He remembered someone blowing candles out for him during his 21st birthday celebration... He liked to go to sleep at night.








Otherhood






Approximately 3.14% of the entire world population could be classified as Others. For better or worse the most self-empowered have made their marks in what we call time. Some of the best known would be Ghandi or Joan of Arc. Adolf Hitler was a particularly tormented Other. That’s not saying that Joan of Arc wasn’t, but Hitler let the bastards grind him down. There were countless slaves from the realms of America to Egypt. Slaves, countless that are lost to linear history. Their manners and ideas were owned by their masters who in turn pissed these gifts away or took all credit for themselves.
The life of a slave was work. There was no end and so there was no means by it. Work was simply "what was done" and many Others never broke away from this lifestyle. Perhaps they took some enjoyment developing some subtle style of their own, molding or placing bricks in a particular way... though there were some who did break away. There were rumors of a slave who, while pretending to mold stones for pyramids, created small works of art instead. His first few creations were reproductions of animals and he was whipped when they were discovered inside of his work pail. He couldn’t stop creating though because the mindless labor was more painful than punishment. His next creations were small statues of his slave masters, each one whipping a faceless slave. When these were discovered there was quite a different reaction. There was laughing and proud stares mixed with indifferent approval. He became their personal artist for some time until the pharaoh found out- and then he belonged to the pharaoh, acquiring a new name.
There were many stories less grand than this that we won’t come to know during the age of linear knowledge. Stories even greater- like the life of Moses. In many regions slaves would wander off from the life they knew risking death for personal truth. Some survived and some met wonderful deaths. One particular slave escaped to wander a rainforest of the Amazon. She was bitten by a poisonous snake and instinctively began rubbing the wound with a nearby plant. Unknown to her, the plant, a rare species of iboga root, contained hallucinogenic chemicals that mingled with the chemicals of the snake’s venom. After a few minutes of rubbing her wound she noticed that the snake hadn’t left. In fact it was staring right at her, patiently. She looked up and like a middle class American teenager said, "What?" She was obviously upset at the snake for attempting to kill her. "Just wait" said the snake..................... Within a few moments everything she looked upon broke down into it’s most basic molecules. The trees, the snake, her own hands. She could see how each molecule acted by itself and how it interacted with other molecules in the environment. She saw them fuse into each other and bleed through the landscape as if energy and object were nothing more than pools of energy. Suddenly everything was completely alive and she understood the entire living process. Rocks were only different from herself in form, the air a different form altogether. She could not only feel her field of vision but she could look straight through the back of her head and view the scenery from there... looking through her head did cast a shadow of molecules over that field of vision though. She realized that she was dying and knew that she could keep from doing so, but she knew death through life now and promptly decided to let go. Her curiosity was too strong to pass by this unknown gate, which she opened rather abruptly and left her world. Part of her remained as part of everything remains in one form or another. From her a new molecule was born and stored in a fungi where her body died.
The first male to eat from that fungi became the father of the first shaman. He and his wife were surprised to find that their child had both male and female sexual organs. This had never occurred within their tribe’s memory before, making this child a symbol of some new beginning. A blessing in fact... due to the child’s parents being respected among the tribe. There began a molecular bloodline. But enough of this for now. We’ll get into more about that shaman child later... everything comes from everything.

You can’t generalize a genuine Other or the impact they have on the perceptions around them. You can credit their influence for breaking power structures based on common thought. Their influences can be credited with ending forms of slavery, evolving religious and scientific belief systems, and transcending manners of living in regular life. They are responsible for the creation of homeless shelters, rehab. centers, free education programs, and social revolutions at their best. At their worst they created Nazi Eugenics, subliminal propaganda, animal experimentation, and came up with snuff videos.
They were granted new ideas because they agreed to live for them. They chose to live for their ideas as those ideas were developing. If the Other was in a negative state, they nurtured negative ideas and likewise a positive state nurtured positive ideas. This was the nature of life and it was balanced well enough.
When the man in the gray hat appeared, or became deeply involved, the Others became a target of the mind set that he represented. He knew them more intimately than a generalization. In a personal way, he could decipher their differences from himself... from itself. As his power grew he located these Others more easily and found ways to dismantle them. A machine was developed to locate the 3.14% of the population who were fully Others. It processed huge databases of various records such as profiles from schools, jails and various institutions. New records were formed from intelligence agencies who had undercover agents inside gangs and larger organizations... like churches and political groups. All information was fed into the machine, constantly increasing the statistical relevance of an individual’s probability. Ever so quickly did this machine become an efficient tool, weeding out the Others from the general population and manipulating them to conversely strengthen the mind set .


Density of Control


Ordinary systems of control were altered to include functions other than what they were designed for. A rehab clinic, which formerly diagnosed people who misused chemical substances, was modified to include people with low consumer activity. This category included people who refused to buy a brand new car and anyone who shopped at a second hand store who didn’t need to. You would graduate from a rehab clinic when you showed sufficient consumer activity. They would hand you an extra 20 hours on your work week, a diploma, and a tracking device. You wouldn’t know about the tracker, but it would be acceptable for you to retain your drug habit as long as you could afford it. The penal system operated in a similar way. What could get you into jail changed dramatically. "Pay attention to your celebrities.", mothers would tell their children. Watching celebrities was the only way they could understand it. The family and friends of those in the neighborhood who spent a lot of time walking and talking like celebrities never seemed to get arrested or disappear. It was a growing phenomenon.
"It was always the kids who were a little strange that found trouble."
Eventually it seemed that anyone who stood out in any way at all spent some time at the police station, eventually disappearing all together. There was a survival path though– the path of the celebrity.
This development was a powerful catalyst in the acquired fabric of the replacement system. The television brought a generalization of dominant character traits with it. Actors and actresses were chosen for their appeal to people. In turn, those performers conformed their personality traits to meet that approval. After a few years of studying what people would accept, an unconscious formula evolved in the minds of viewers and performers. This form of entertainment was an accepted mirror of reality and an accurate representation of what reality should be.
Without conscious awareness the acceptable behavior of an individual was marked by an intricate webbing of generalizations. Each thread being a different rule of conduct, unknown even to the individual... personality traits changed only when a stronger, more dominant generalization took its place.
All social problems were fed into the media machine and assimilated through the minds of people, dictating how those people regarded such issues. A fairly powerful perception of the "rights and wrongs" of life was created and enforced from the projections of this multi-angled box...which Jimi and others came to know as the machine bible in it’s physical form.
This dangerously narrow system of generalized thought was forced onto populations by outside influence only after the people were ready for it. It began inside of their own minds, a freak of nature born from their collective semi conscious womb.
Consider an individual person as a collection of different personalities, each personality with it’s own desires and details, working together for the benefit of each. If one personality became so dominant as to absorb the others into it, or repress them into submission, it would create a dramatic imbalance that would send the person to an institution or the streets............. In this case the general population was building an institution for itself to stay in.
People of the 3rd world regions were already being harnessed like animals to supply the rich when he appeared. The malls had already become the new sanctuary. Corporate headquarters the new church,...with it’s new bible. The way was prepared for this white priest, wearing a plain gray hat.
The Indecipherable Pat and Her Replacement System




"What the hell is that chick on?", whispered the manager of the pub to his bartender, "This isn’t good. I could get in deep shit for this!"
Pat had momentarily lost herself in center stage. She was staring at a stage light above her, crying into the microphone. Just the bass player kept playing ‘cause it had been a few minutes. The rest of the band watched her like a deer would a headlight. She was crying, but she also smiled into that light as if it was telling her new secrets of the universal mind. They could hear her talk about stolen light because the microphone was still close to her mouth. They could hear her when she asked it, "Lost politics are in the silence?" Then they saw her stare at the wall for a moment... and then she began to hum to the looming bass line. That’s when the band picked up again and she kicked in singing.
That’s the way it was with Pat. She was there one minute and then way off somewhere else the next. The rest of the band was used to it by then. Pat had been with them for over 3 months now, and she hadn’t changed a bit since the first time she picked up that microphone. There was talk among the band members of whether she was schizophrenic or suffered from some mild case of tourettes. "When she talks to me... she stares at me like an arm she’s operating on.", said one band member. "Can you believe she used to be a school teacher... or was it an office assistant?", said another. Another one broke in, "Can you believe we found her in the woods... and brought her home... and now she’s our singer?" They all gave each other strange looks and started laughing. Then one of them noticed that the youngest hadn’t said anything. She was just doodling on some paper. "Hey, what are you drawing up?", the oldest asked her. She handed him the piece of paper and on it was written "Pat’s Replacement System." "What’s that supposed to mean?", somebody asked. "I heard her say it in her sleep... She said it over and over again... the replacement system... my replacement system..." They were all quiet for awhile then somebody came up with an idea, "That would make a good band name..."
The manager of the pub was livid. "Did she just sing something about the rich committing crimes?" He stared at the bartender who looked nervous. The bartender answered, "I think she said ‘It was the best of times for the rich and their crimes...’, I think." The manager stomped off across the pub and shrieked to the sound girl, "Cut them off!!...Cut it off!!!" The sound girl flicked a switch and the music died. The manager shouted across the pub, "Call the police...we’ve got an act of terrorism here!" He turned back to the sound girl, "What’s the name of that band. I want the name of that band!!!"
"The Replacement System", she said.
"That sounds subversive.", he replied, "We cant have any of that around here!" The band was pretty freaked out at hearing the word ‘police’ so they left their instruments and pulled Pat out onto the street. Some of the crowd followed them out the door. A big guy with wire rimmed glasses went up to them and said, "Hey, we’ll take your instruments to this address. Stop by whenever you want them." He turned away and then turned back and said, "Hey, you folks rock!!" He said it matter of factly, but you could feel his excitement.
Later on that night the band was freaking out at the practice space. They started drinking and talking about their changing world for the first time.
"It’s just not fair!", somebody said.
"I knew that truth was out of style but who knew it was illegal?", said another.
"I mean like, yeah...we should get a TV cause we’re missing some changes that are going on!"
"No, TV sucks... lets get a newspaper or something."
Pat was sitting at the end of the couch smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. The lights were real low in the practice room so the glow of her cigarette caught her eye. She stared at the glowing tip until it grew so big she entered into it. Another apocalypse, she thought. I’m inside...another apocalypse. So who am I? I was a teacher and now I’m a singer in a rock and roll band, but who am I now and who was I? That woman ran into my car... and my name is Pat.... and somehow... I realized... that I chose my own name...
The band was deciding whether they should retrieve their equipment from the address the guy outside the club gave them when Pat jerked up out of her zoned state of mind and gasped, "Oh goodness, I’m the Town Crier!" They looked over at her and again she had tears in her eyes with a solemn, knowing stare behind them. They were quiet as she said to herself as much as to them, "Do we have what it takes... do we have that kind of will... that love it takes...to shadowbox yet another... apocalypse?"
"What do you mean, Pat?", asked the oldest. "I understand what’s going on out there... now. Souls are being lost. My soul was almost lost... but someone saved me... then you found me... and then this..." She trailed off. "It means something- what we’re doing. We have to tell everyone about the apocalypse that’s on the way." She took a long drag from her cigarette and the band stared at the red lines on her cheeks where her tears had been. The expression on her face changed from bewildered calm to that of a surgeon beginning to operate on someone’s arm, "We’ve known about these changes for some time now, we just didn’t see it... the world has changed in front of us... unnoticed... but how it has changed..."
They agreed with her one after another, and then began discussing places to play where the police wouldn’t be a threat. The band never went to that address to get the equipment, and it was a good thing they didn’t because the police were waiting for them there.


Back to Sir Jane



Sir Jane was in the back of yet another pickup truck. She was staring at a following car as she rested her arm on a small pig. It could have passed for a medium sized dog in the twilight but the person following the pickup was pretty sure it was a pig. They sped up closer to the pickup for a better look until they were a car’s length away. Sir Jane lost herself staring past the headlights and through the windshield until she found the person in the driver’s seat. He was staring briskly ahead as if cutting through fog until he locked into her eyes. ‘Are they really glowing?’, he thought but it was too late. He couldn’t move his body and he couldn’t even think about trying.
Sir Jane saw the man behind the window change into a woman who looked similar to him. The same expression, like someone on formal display, was on her face... and then that face changed into a younger, yet similar face. The young woman changed into an even younger boy, and then more changes occurred. Face after face moving faster and faster into another until the head shuffled like a pack of cards, rotating like some quick vibration. Like a snap of a whip the man’s face returned to stare back at her. His expression was awe, like that of someone who survived a few seconds in the eye of a tornado. There was no such thing as time to that man named Stanley, in fact at that moment there was no such thing as Stanley.
Sir Jane saw his tears begin to stream down in slow motion and then she saw the muscles of his face contort. Like a rainstorm he broke down. As he squealed onto his brakes, she saw him disappear into the night. She snapped out of it when the man and car were out of sight. She felt something under her arm and looked to find the pig staring back at her. "He’s a very bad man.", it said.
"I’m a very bad man.", said Stanley. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and broke down crying again. "I’m a very bad man and I deserve to be in Hell all by myself, but now there’s no such thing as Hell and I have to face the rest of my life without the comfort of knowing I’ll be in Hell, so what do I do?" He was sitting there in his car on the side of the road with the engine off. He still felt traces of the change as if each person he experienced a moment ago was still blending in through him. Suddenly it hit him like a bolt of lightening, "The truth!!", he exclaimed. "I must find out the truth of the truth!"
Stanley sped off into the night stopping at a dirt path on the side of the road. He got out of the car and walked up to an old farmhouse, then went inside. He walked up to an old man who was sitting on a couch staring off. He had 80 years to Stanley’s 50. "Father, I want the truth! You must tell me the truth right now!!" The father looked up and said, "The truth about what?" Stanley talked a little quieter but his eyes bulged more, "Why are there people in the barn? Why do we put people in the barn?" The father answered, "You know why... boy. We put those people in the barn because they’re evil. Why else would we put people in the barn?"
"We put people in the barn because we’re evil! And because we were given money to put them in the barn!", Stanley shouted back. "No.", his father replied, "When this country was founded in 1666 it swore to protect freedom throughout the world, Son. Now those immigrants are turning people into gays with all their drugs. Women are used for sex, Son- and that’s a freedom all true men should fight for. Your Uncle Sam’s trusted us to get rid of those evil villains before they turn the whole world against itself. I know its not pretty but the work of the Lord rarely is... What the Hell has gotten into you boy?" Stanley pulled a roll of duct tape out of a drawer, "I have new eyes father, and they only see far away." Then he knocked his father out and tied him to a chair. Before leaving the house Stanley stopped in his room and grabbed the rubber Batman mask that was laying on his bed.
When Stanley opened the barn door the thick smell of blood greeted him. He was overcome with emotion- something he never felt when he was in this place before. Each compartment of the barn was transformed by prison bars and literally stuffed with people. They couldn’t move, but began to cry and moan because he was there- the man in the Batman mask. And when the man in the Batman mask showed up somebody was always getting cut up or worse.
Stanley knew what symbol that mask represented to them. He wore it now because he wanted them to know that it was he who tortured them...as he unlocked the cages all at once. It was the push of a button and hundreds of stolen people were freed. Stanley walked to the middle of the room and prepared to be ripped to shreds. He couldn’t stop crying but he managed to mumble loudly, "I’m yours!" A large angry man walked up to him and Stanley lost consciousness with the first blow.


Sir Jane was still in the bed of the pickup but she began to feel a whirlpool of emotion swelling up in her gut. She knew it had to do with that man at that precise moment but she didn’t know any more than "something had happened". Some far off part of her got smacked as if she was waking up from a dream...violently, but she couldn’t feel anything physically. One tear of sadness fell but she had no thought to connect to it. The pig was straining its neck, gaping at her. She could tell it was trying to say something. "What?", she whispered to it. The pig shook for a few seconds and then threw up. Sir Jane’s stomach lurched also but instead of puking, her eyes lit up, illuminating the road behind her. She immediately grabbed the pig up into her arms and jumped.
The driver noticed the light and glanced up at the rearview mirror in time to see her jump onto the road at 60 miles an hour. He thought he saw a puddle splash up all around her as she skidded along. He slammed on the brakes too late to see her and the pig sink down into the highway.
Sir Jane was a little foggy, but after a moment she could tell that she was embedded in road up to her chest. Just the head of the pig was sticking out of the asphalt, still clutched by her arms. The pig couldn’t move its head but its eyes looked around taking it all in. Sir Jane couldn’t move either. She had that familiar metallic substance seeping out of her skin, moving all over her body... mingling with itself and then burrowing back into her skin to disappear until the next time. She could tell the pig’s head was bleeding. It had a small gash on its upper forehead with the color red oozing from it. Sir Jane felt her own metallic ooze dripping down her forehead so she tilted her head, letting it drip onto the pig’s wound. It healed the pig and she was satisfied. Then she heard footsteps coming. She tried to budge but nothing happened. She couldn’t see the figure yet but she knew it was the driver. She started to get anxious. She could feel her heart beat faster and her body start to vibrate. It seemed like the road enclosing her began to feel different around her body- less stable. The footsteps were getting closer and she started purposefully working herself up, focusing her attention on the pitch of her vibrations. She could feel the solid become liquid around her and her body began to move freely. Sir Jane reached up and let the pig off on a ledge of solid road. She could see the figure now... moving closer... he saw the pig and sped up his pace. Sir Jane let herself sink down into the road.
He came to the spot where the pig was . It was just standing there... must have been in shock. It didn’t look hurt though and that was good. His eye caught something on the ground right next to the pig. It was hair. There was a clump of hair on the ground and it was the same color as that girl’s who was riding in back. He should have never let her ride back there... but when he told her to sit up by him, she had pulled up her pant leg and what he saw was disturbing. It was covered in hair, like a man’s leg should be. That just surprised him too much so he let her stay in the back... He guessed that she must have had a flashlight and saw something in the woods that scared her, as it was with young women. He went along side the roads edge looking for her body, although he thought it was strange there was no blood leaving a trail.
Sir Jane couldn’t hold her breath anymore but instead of appearing and having to deal with another person, she let her mouth and nose open right up. The liquid road rushed right in. She flung her head back but the surface of the road where her hair was stuck remained solid and she jerked to a halt. She felt the liquid rush through her and it felt very cold at first, but she could breath it in. It tasted a bit like tar but a bit like air also. She had a feeling this would happen. She knew it would happen... and although it was the first time she breathed in road, the experience was familiar.
Sir Jane could sense her hair stuck above so she tried to focus on the still steady vibrations throughout her body. What happened next surprised her. She felt her vibrations speed up and then her hair release from above– but suddenly she could see! She felt a tingling sensation in between her eyes just below her forehead, and from there a tunnel of vision projected. She jerked her head back in surprise and tried to close her eyes but they were already closed. This was one big eye that wasn’t ready to close just yet. It took her a while to adjust as she floated still in mid- road.
How she saw was through a huge 100 foot tunnel wavering with projected light. Images weren’t still- they wavered back and forth... but they were highly visible. She looked down and saw that below her shoulders the tar flowed into dirt and rock. It was similar to looking around underwater at night time with an incredibly powerful head light on... but wherever the headlight was aimed, the water would look like a very transparent gel. Sir Jane felt good. Her body felt like a thick gel itself as it molded to the environment around it. She found she could move by focusing her vibrations in a particular direction. Like a ghost, she floated below the road so there was a black tar ceiling flowing above her head. She was breathing in pure dirt now. It had a slightly more appealing taste.
The man had given up looking for the body. It had been over a half hour and he couldn’t locate a trace of anything. He couldn’t even find the clump of hair on the pavement anymore. There was no wind so it should have been right there ... but it wasn’t. Maybe he imagined it. He didn’t imagine her though. He brought his pig back to the truck and left to report what he thought happened.
Sir Jane knew he left. She could feel vibrations from the surface leading away. Above her head the black layer had disappeared. The road was gone also. Sir Jane began to lift herself upward. Rocks felt like soap bars sliding against her as she rose through the earth. She entered a root system and each cord sent a stream of energy through her body. She rose higher, entering the trunk of the tree. It took a few minutes for her to work her way through such dense matter. When her body was finally emerged in tree she had to stop and collect herself because she was overwhelmed with euphoria. A rush of more perfect energy became all she knew for a few moments. Sir Jane rose again through the dense mass until she could feel her limbs separate from the tree’s body. She had to pull herself out of the tree limbs into the night air, where she finally rested on them 50 feet from the ground.
"I have to find Tyrone... the angel.", she thought out loud. Exhausted, she fell asleep in familiar arms.