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So..This is a story I started today. This is only the first part. Haven't a clue if I'll finish it, or how many parts there'll be. But I hope you enjoy, anyway. It's a bit strange, apparently.
--
Mindfield
- I
Ben sat on the wooden floor of his room. He had a chair. It was beautiful, hand carved and upholstered in fabric of the deepest aquamarine. It was special. He didn't sit in it, for the simple reason that he was not special. Neither did he lie on his neat-as-a-pin bed, or at the swivel chair carefully tucked under his desk. Clothes lay folded perfectly on the dresser, and the computer screen was black.
This room was dead.
So Ben sat on his wooden floor that was made centuries ago, and stared out of the window at the rain pounding against it. He liked rain. There seemed to be so much life in it. Vitality was a good thing, in the endless and complicated books of Ben. He sighed and shifted position. He didn't have to. It was his choice, he was making a change. He sighed and crossed his legs again. It was more comfortable.
--
The thing about Ben Wilkins was this. He was 18, and he had it made. A place at Oxford studying medicine was his unconditionally, and the minute he ripped open his A-Level results he knew he'd got straight A's. His parents doted on him, but didn't spoil him. Life was good for one Ben Wilkins.
Then riddle me this, he mused to himself on this rainy day, why do I wish I was 8 again, sat on the hearth in front of a log fire reading Harry bloody Potter?
--
Ben let himself quietly out of the back door. He loved the house. Built from reclaimed materials at the end of the 19th century, its bold beam support and thatch roof appealed perfectly to his sentimental side. Or maybe it's because it's lifeless. Just like you.
Ben ambled along the muddy footpath that wound its way peacefully through the fields that surrounded his village. He stared down at the ground, watching water well up and run away from his boots. He was making for the bench carved from a fallen oak tree. He knew it well. He used to walk his golden retriever up here. He reached it. No-one was in sight, as usual. He liked it that way. When people were around him they tended to make a noise in his thoughts.
And Ben never wondered how strange that was.
He sat down heavily on the bench and rested his head on his upraised palms.
"Ah, there you are. Been waiting for you."
The voice cut into Bens forced solitude, nervous impulses jerking his spine upright. A boy of about his age was sitting next to him, clad in a heavy raincoat and a dark suit. He was attempting to whistle a jaunty tune, but Ben got the feeling that jaunty was not a natural state for this man.
"Who the hell are you?" asked Ben angrily. He did not like to be disturbed.
"Now thats not very polite. I come up here of my own accord. These shoes are suede, you know."
Ben stood. This guy seemed innocent enough, but he felt dangerous.
"Oh calm down Ben. I am you, after all."
A silence hung over the conversation.
"You're...what?" said Ben.
"You. Now, onto business..."
"Hang on a minute. What the...Who..What on God's green earth are you babbling about?"
The other man leant back on the bench. Ben, despite himself, looked at the guys features. The age was the same, sure, but apart from that they shared nothing in common. Ben said as much.
"You're only looking in the normal dimensions, Benjamin." said the man, cryptically.
"Don't you have a name?" asked Ben.
"Well, yes. It's Ben." said Ben.
"This is a little creepy, you know. Are you an escapee from the mental prision up at..."
"No, No, No! I. Am. You. Please pay attention."
"Why don't you shut u.." began Ben.
"Fourty seven minutes ago you wished that you were 8 again."
Ben stopped. He turned away, gasping for air. It's a trick, thats all. But how could he know my thoughts? He turned back.
The man was gone. Ben span around quickly, looked under the bench, even over the hedge. He'd simply vanished. Ben dragged a hand over his face to wipe away nervous sweat and took a couple of paces backwards. Then he turned around and sprinted back to the village. He'd never wonder why there were only one set of footprints leading up the hill.
--
"Faith makes everybody scared, see I know, you don't know, keeps me hanging on..."
Ben mouthed the words to the song as he lay on his wooden floor, staring out at the rain. He turned a gemstone over and over in his fingers. There was nothing special about it. Ben preferred not to have contact with anything especially special. He wasn't special enough, you see. Ben grinned at the ceiling. The ceiling was white. Plain, like him. Ben sighed, and banged his head gently against the aged floor. He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him.
When he opened them, he was standing on a moor. Ben knew it was a moor because a sign was in front of him, saying "Moor". He looked around, wide-eyed. He'd closed his eyes a second ago, he couldn't have fallen asleep. Surely. He'd turned full circle now. Nothing in sight. Just a massive rolling mass of...moor, like the sign said. Then Ben saw something in the distance. Something Ben swore hadn't been there before.
"This makes no sense." said Ben. Then he shrugged and set off towards the distant object. Hey, if this was a dream, what harm can it do, right?
He took one step, and the object came to him. Somehow. It was a flat boulder, with a girl sitting cross-legged on top. She was dressed in a flowing dress, and her brown hair cascaded onto her shoulders and caught the light. She was beautiful, Ben realised. And...reading. She was concentrating on a book, eyes skimming lightly over the words. Ben twisted his head to read it. Then he gulped and waved his hand in front of his eyes several times. Then he looked again. Nothing had changed. The only word on the page was his name, in large font, repeated over and over.
I'm just dreaming, thought Ben. Instataneously, the girl looked up, treating him to a dazzling smile.
"You're not dreaming." she grinned at him. Ben found himself gaping, again. And not just because he felt a blush burning at his cheeks.
"I...uh...you can read my mind?" he asked, stuttering. He never stuttered.
"Well, I am you after all." she said happily, and pushed herself up off the rock. She gave Ben a tight hug, and kissed him lightly. Then she gave a laugh and skipped off among the heather. Ben just stared after her.
"Jesus Christ almighty..." he thought. What the hell is going on?
"Don't ask me. I mean you." she shouted back at him, and then laughed at a joke only she could hear.
--
Ben sat bolt upright on the floor of his room. The rain was still lashing down, as if determined to shatter the glass. He gasped, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth. It felt dry, as if he'd been asleep for hours.
"I am falling into grace, to the unknown..."
The same song was playing. What was going on? He glanced at his watch. It was half an hour before he'd fallen asleep, or whatever had just happened to him? Ben pushed his fingers into his temples and started a slow clockwise rotation. God damn, his head hurt. He locked his fingers and pushed them against the back of his head, laying back on the floor. If it was half an hour ago, then he'd just be getting back from the walk. But how could he, when he was here?
"Yeah, thats a knotty one, that." said a familiar voice. Ben jerked upright and felt a muscle in his arm scream in protest. He grimaced and pulled his arms free, glaring at the figure sitting in his aquamarine chair.
"You're not real. You can't be me." spat Ben. All this was annoying him, and threatening to rip him apart.
"And you'd love that, wouldn't you?" continued the figure, ignoring Ben. "To be shattered, destroyed, by something you can't understand. The ultimate irony."
"You're just a figment of my imagination." muttered Ben.
"Oh, a figment, am I? Are you?" He leant closer and grabbed Ben's chin with two fingers, tilting his head so he was whispering into Ben's ear. "Do you really think you've got the imagination for this?"
He let go, and Ben's head sagged. He covered his face with his hands, and leant forward. The man settled himself in the chair, staring out of the window.
"Now," he continued, "someone like you might concieve an elaborate scheme for how you'd been thrust back in time half an hour while in your sleep. Perhaps a temporal fold, or an anomaly. Something...deep. You'd like that. Whereas, someone like me, that is to say, you, would simply do this."
He leant forward, grabbed Ben's wrist, and pulled the watch off. He twirled the dial half an hour forward, and pointed to the clock on the wall. The times matched. The man laughed. And Ben laughed, finally, tears seeping down his arms. They laughed together, feeling the humour well up inside them.
Ben suddenly lurched forwards, swinging a muscled arm in rage, face screwed up in anger.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" yelled Ben. His fist connected with nothing.
The room was empty.
--
Mindfield
- I
Ben sat on the wooden floor of his room. He had a chair. It was beautiful, hand carved and upholstered in fabric of the deepest aquamarine. It was special. He didn't sit in it, for the simple reason that he was not special. Neither did he lie on his neat-as-a-pin bed, or at the swivel chair carefully tucked under his desk. Clothes lay folded perfectly on the dresser, and the computer screen was black.
This room was dead.
So Ben sat on his wooden floor that was made centuries ago, and stared out of the window at the rain pounding against it. He liked rain. There seemed to be so much life in it. Vitality was a good thing, in the endless and complicated books of Ben. He sighed and shifted position. He didn't have to. It was his choice, he was making a change. He sighed and crossed his legs again. It was more comfortable.
--
The thing about Ben Wilkins was this. He was 18, and he had it made. A place at Oxford studying medicine was his unconditionally, and the minute he ripped open his A-Level results he knew he'd got straight A's. His parents doted on him, but didn't spoil him. Life was good for one Ben Wilkins.
Then riddle me this, he mused to himself on this rainy day, why do I wish I was 8 again, sat on the hearth in front of a log fire reading Harry bloody Potter?
--
Ben let himself quietly out of the back door. He loved the house. Built from reclaimed materials at the end of the 19th century, its bold beam support and thatch roof appealed perfectly to his sentimental side. Or maybe it's because it's lifeless. Just like you.
Ben ambled along the muddy footpath that wound its way peacefully through the fields that surrounded his village. He stared down at the ground, watching water well up and run away from his boots. He was making for the bench carved from a fallen oak tree. He knew it well. He used to walk his golden retriever up here. He reached it. No-one was in sight, as usual. He liked it that way. When people were around him they tended to make a noise in his thoughts.
And Ben never wondered how strange that was.
He sat down heavily on the bench and rested his head on his upraised palms.
"Ah, there you are. Been waiting for you."
The voice cut into Bens forced solitude, nervous impulses jerking his spine upright. A boy of about his age was sitting next to him, clad in a heavy raincoat and a dark suit. He was attempting to whistle a jaunty tune, but Ben got the feeling that jaunty was not a natural state for this man.
"Who the hell are you?" asked Ben angrily. He did not like to be disturbed.
"Now thats not very polite. I come up here of my own accord. These shoes are suede, you know."
Ben stood. This guy seemed innocent enough, but he felt dangerous.
"Oh calm down Ben. I am you, after all."
A silence hung over the conversation.
"You're...what?" said Ben.
"You. Now, onto business..."
"Hang on a minute. What the...Who..What on God's green earth are you babbling about?"
The other man leant back on the bench. Ben, despite himself, looked at the guys features. The age was the same, sure, but apart from that they shared nothing in common. Ben said as much.
"You're only looking in the normal dimensions, Benjamin." said the man, cryptically.
"Don't you have a name?" asked Ben.
"Well, yes. It's Ben." said Ben.
"This is a little creepy, you know. Are you an escapee from the mental prision up at..."
"No, No, No! I. Am. You. Please pay attention."
"Why don't you shut u.." began Ben.
"Fourty seven minutes ago you wished that you were 8 again."
Ben stopped. He turned away, gasping for air. It's a trick, thats all. But how could he know my thoughts? He turned back.
The man was gone. Ben span around quickly, looked under the bench, even over the hedge. He'd simply vanished. Ben dragged a hand over his face to wipe away nervous sweat and took a couple of paces backwards. Then he turned around and sprinted back to the village. He'd never wonder why there were only one set of footprints leading up the hill.
--
"Faith makes everybody scared, see I know, you don't know, keeps me hanging on..."
Ben mouthed the words to the song as he lay on his wooden floor, staring out at the rain. He turned a gemstone over and over in his fingers. There was nothing special about it. Ben preferred not to have contact with anything especially special. He wasn't special enough, you see. Ben grinned at the ceiling. The ceiling was white. Plain, like him. Ben sighed, and banged his head gently against the aged floor. He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him.
When he opened them, he was standing on a moor. Ben knew it was a moor because a sign was in front of him, saying "Moor". He looked around, wide-eyed. He'd closed his eyes a second ago, he couldn't have fallen asleep. Surely. He'd turned full circle now. Nothing in sight. Just a massive rolling mass of...moor, like the sign said. Then Ben saw something in the distance. Something Ben swore hadn't been there before.
"This makes no sense." said Ben. Then he shrugged and set off towards the distant object. Hey, if this was a dream, what harm can it do, right?
He took one step, and the object came to him. Somehow. It was a flat boulder, with a girl sitting cross-legged on top. She was dressed in a flowing dress, and her brown hair cascaded onto her shoulders and caught the light. She was beautiful, Ben realised. And...reading. She was concentrating on a book, eyes skimming lightly over the words. Ben twisted his head to read it. Then he gulped and waved his hand in front of his eyes several times. Then he looked again. Nothing had changed. The only word on the page was his name, in large font, repeated over and over.
I'm just dreaming, thought Ben. Instataneously, the girl looked up, treating him to a dazzling smile.
"You're not dreaming." she grinned at him. Ben found himself gaping, again. And not just because he felt a blush burning at his cheeks.
"I...uh...you can read my mind?" he asked, stuttering. He never stuttered.
"Well, I am you after all." she said happily, and pushed herself up off the rock. She gave Ben a tight hug, and kissed him lightly. Then she gave a laugh and skipped off among the heather. Ben just stared after her.
"Jesus Christ almighty..." he thought. What the hell is going on?
"Don't ask me. I mean you." she shouted back at him, and then laughed at a joke only she could hear.
--
Ben sat bolt upright on the floor of his room. The rain was still lashing down, as if determined to shatter the glass. He gasped, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth. It felt dry, as if he'd been asleep for hours.
"I am falling into grace, to the unknown..."
The same song was playing. What was going on? He glanced at his watch. It was half an hour before he'd fallen asleep, or whatever had just happened to him? Ben pushed his fingers into his temples and started a slow clockwise rotation. God damn, his head hurt. He locked his fingers and pushed them against the back of his head, laying back on the floor. If it was half an hour ago, then he'd just be getting back from the walk. But how could he, when he was here?
"Yeah, thats a knotty one, that." said a familiar voice. Ben jerked upright and felt a muscle in his arm scream in protest. He grimaced and pulled his arms free, glaring at the figure sitting in his aquamarine chair.
"You're not real. You can't be me." spat Ben. All this was annoying him, and threatening to rip him apart.
"And you'd love that, wouldn't you?" continued the figure, ignoring Ben. "To be shattered, destroyed, by something you can't understand. The ultimate irony."
"You're just a figment of my imagination." muttered Ben.
"Oh, a figment, am I? Are you?" He leant closer and grabbed Ben's chin with two fingers, tilting his head so he was whispering into Ben's ear. "Do you really think you've got the imagination for this?"
He let go, and Ben's head sagged. He covered his face with his hands, and leant forward. The man settled himself in the chair, staring out of the window.
"Now," he continued, "someone like you might concieve an elaborate scheme for how you'd been thrust back in time half an hour while in your sleep. Perhaps a temporal fold, or an anomaly. Something...deep. You'd like that. Whereas, someone like me, that is to say, you, would simply do this."
He leant forward, grabbed Ben's wrist, and pulled the watch off. He twirled the dial half an hour forward, and pointed to the clock on the wall. The times matched. The man laughed. And Ben laughed, finally, tears seeping down his arms. They laughed together, feeling the humour well up inside them.
Ben suddenly lurched forwards, swinging a muscled arm in rage, face screwed up in anger.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" yelled Ben. His fist connected with nothing.
The room was empty.
Page:
So..This is a story I started today. This is only the first part. Haven't a clue if I'll finish it, or how many parts there'll be. But I hope you enjoy, anyway. It's a bit strange, apparently.
--
Mindfield
- I
Ben sat on the wooden floor of his room. He had a chair. It was beautiful, hand carved and upholstered in fabric of the deepest aquamarine. It was special. He didn't sit in it, for the simple reason that he was not special. Neither did he lie on his neat-as-a-pin bed, or at the swivel chair carefully tucked under his desk. Clothes lay folded perfectly on the dresser, and the computer screen was black.
This room was dead.
So Ben sat on his wooden floor that was made centuries ago, and stared out of the window at the rain pounding against it. He liked rain. There seemed to be so much life in it. Vitality was a good thing, in the endless and complicated books of Ben. He sighed and shifted position. He didn't have to. It was his choice, he was making a change. He sighed and crossed his legs again. It was more comfortable.
--
The thing about Ben Wilkins was this. He was 18, and he had it made. A place at Oxford studying medicine was his unconditionally, and the minute he ripped open his A-Level results he knew he'd got straight A's. His parents doted on him, but didn't spoil him. Life was good for one Ben Wilkins.
Then riddle me this, he mused to himself on this rainy day, why do I wish I was 8 again, sat on the hearth in front of a log fire reading Harry bloody Potter?
--
Ben let himself quietly out of the back door. He loved the house. Built from reclaimed materials at the end of the 19th century, its bold beam support and thatch roof appealed perfectly to his sentimental side. Or maybe it's because it's lifeless. Just like you.
Ben ambled along the muddy footpath that wound its way peacefully through the fields that surrounded his village. He stared down at the ground, watching water well up and run away from his boots. He was making for the bench carved from a fallen oak tree. He knew it well. He used to walk his golden retriever up here. He reached it. No-one was in sight, as usual. He liked it that way. When people were around him they tended to make a noise in his thoughts.
And Ben never wondered how strange that was.
He sat down heavily on the bench and rested his head on his upraised palms.
"Ah, there you are. Been waiting for you."
The voice cut into Bens forced solitude, nervous impulses jerking his spine upright. A boy of about his age was sitting next to him, clad in a heavy raincoat and a dark suit. He was attempting to whistle a jaunty tune, but Ben got the feeling that jaunty was not a natural state for this man.
"Who the hell are you?" asked Ben angrily. He did not like to be disturbed.
"Now thats not very polite. I come up here of my own accord. These shoes are suede, you know."
Ben stood. This guy seemed innocent enough, but he felt dangerous.
"Oh calm down Ben. I am you, after all."
A silence hung over the conversation.
"You're...what?" said Ben.
"You. Now, onto business..."
"Hang on a minute. What the...Who..What on God's green earth are you babbling about?"
The other man leant back on the bench. Ben, despite himself, looked at the guys features. The age was the same, sure, but apart from that they shared nothing in common. Ben said as much.
"You're only looking in the normal dimensions, Benjamin." said the man, cryptically.
"Don't you have a name?" asked Ben.
"Well, yes. It's Ben." said Ben.
"This is a little creepy, you know. Are you an escapee from the mental prision up at..."
"No, No, No! I. Am. You. Please pay attention."
"Why don't you shut u.." began Ben.
"Fourty seven minutes ago you wished that you were 8 again."
Ben stopped. He turned away, gasping for air. It's a trick, thats all. But how could he know my thoughts? He turned back.
The man was gone. Ben span around quickly, looked under the bench, even over the hedge. He'd simply vanished. Ben dragged a hand over his face to wipe away nervous sweat and took a couple of paces backwards. Then he turned around and sprinted back to the village. He'd never wonder why there were only one set of footprints leading up the hill.
--
"Faith makes everybody scared, see I know, you don't know, keeps me hanging on..."
Ben mouthed the words to the song as he lay on his wooden floor, staring out at the rain. He turned a gemstone over and over in his fingers. There was nothing special about it. Ben preferred not to have contact with anything especially special. He wasn't special enough, you see. Ben grinned at the ceiling. The ceiling was white. Plain, like him. Ben sighed, and banged his head gently against the aged floor. He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him.
When he opened them, he was standing on a moor. Ben knew it was a moor because a sign was in front of him, saying "Moor". He looked around, wide-eyed. He'd closed his eyes a second ago, he couldn't have fallen asleep. Surely. He'd turned full circle now. Nothing in sight. Just a massive rolling mass of...moor, like the sign said. Then Ben saw something in the distance. Something Ben swore hadn't been there before.
"This makes no sense." said Ben. Then he shrugged and set off towards the distant object. Hey, if this was a dream, what harm can it do, right?
He took one step, and the object came to him. Somehow. It was a flat boulder, with a girl sitting cross-legged on top. She was dressed in a flowing dress, and her brown hair cascaded onto her shoulders and caught the light. She was beautiful, Ben realised. And...reading. She was concentrating on a book, eyes skimming lightly over the words. Ben twisted his head to read it. Then he gulped and waved his hand in front of his eyes several times. Then he looked again. Nothing had changed. The only word on the page was his name, in large font, repeated over and over.
I'm just dreaming, thought Ben. Instataneously, the girl looked up, treating him to a dazzling smile.
"You're not dreaming." she grinned at him. Ben found himself gaping, again. And not just because he felt a blush burning at his cheeks.
"I...uh...you can read my mind?" he asked, stuttering. He never stuttered.
"Well, I am you after all." she said happily, and pushed herself up off the rock. She gave Ben a tight hug, and kissed him lightly. Then she gave a laugh and skipped off among the heather. Ben just stared after her.
"Jesus Christ almighty..." he thought. What the hell is going on?
"Don't ask me. I mean you." she shouted back at him, and then laughed at a joke only she could hear.
--
Ben sat bolt upright on the floor of his room. The rain was still lashing down, as if determined to shatter the glass. He gasped, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth. It felt dry, as if he'd been asleep for hours.
"I am falling into grace, to the unknown..."
The same song was playing. What was going on? He glanced at his watch. It was half an hour before he'd fallen asleep, or whatever had just happened to him? Ben pushed his fingers into his temples and started a slow clockwise rotation. God damn, his head hurt. He locked his fingers and pushed them against the back of his head, laying back on the floor. If it was half an hour ago, then he'd just be getting back from the walk. But how could he, when he was here?
"Yeah, thats a knotty one, that." said a familiar voice. Ben jerked upright and felt a muscle in his arm scream in protest. He grimaced and pulled his arms free, glaring at the figure sitting in his aquamarine chair.
"You're not real. You can't be me." spat Ben. All this was annoying him, and threatening to rip him apart.
"And you'd love that, wouldn't you?" continued the figure, ignoring Ben. "To be shattered, destroyed, by something you can't understand. The ultimate irony."
"You're just a figment of my imagination." muttered Ben.
"Oh, a figment, am I? Are you?" He leant closer and grabbed Ben's chin with two fingers, tilting his head so he was whispering into Ben's ear. "Do you really think you've got the imagination for this?"
He let go, and Ben's head sagged. He covered his face with his hands, and leant forward. The man settled himself in the chair, staring out of the window.
"Now," he continued, "someone like you might concieve an elaborate scheme for how you'd been thrust back in time half an hour while in your sleep. Perhaps a temporal fold, or an anomaly. Something...deep. You'd like that. Whereas, someone like me, that is to say, you, would simply do this."
He leant forward, grabbed Ben's wrist, and pulled the watch off. He twirled the dial half an hour forward, and pointed to the clock on the wall. The times matched. The man laughed. And Ben laughed, finally, tears seeping down his arms. They laughed together, feeling the humour well up inside them.
Ben suddenly lurched forwards, swinging a muscled arm in rage, face screwed up in anger.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" yelled Ben. His fist connected with nothing.
The room was empty.
--
Mindfield
- I
Ben sat on the wooden floor of his room. He had a chair. It was beautiful, hand carved and upholstered in fabric of the deepest aquamarine. It was special. He didn't sit in it, for the simple reason that he was not special. Neither did he lie on his neat-as-a-pin bed, or at the swivel chair carefully tucked under his desk. Clothes lay folded perfectly on the dresser, and the computer screen was black.
This room was dead.
So Ben sat on his wooden floor that was made centuries ago, and stared out of the window at the rain pounding against it. He liked rain. There seemed to be so much life in it. Vitality was a good thing, in the endless and complicated books of Ben. He sighed and shifted position. He didn't have to. It was his choice, he was making a change. He sighed and crossed his legs again. It was more comfortable.
--
The thing about Ben Wilkins was this. He was 18, and he had it made. A place at Oxford studying medicine was his unconditionally, and the minute he ripped open his A-Level results he knew he'd got straight A's. His parents doted on him, but didn't spoil him. Life was good for one Ben Wilkins.
Then riddle me this, he mused to himself on this rainy day, why do I wish I was 8 again, sat on the hearth in front of a log fire reading Harry bloody Potter?
--
Ben let himself quietly out of the back door. He loved the house. Built from reclaimed materials at the end of the 19th century, its bold beam support and thatch roof appealed perfectly to his sentimental side. Or maybe it's because it's lifeless. Just like you.
Ben ambled along the muddy footpath that wound its way peacefully through the fields that surrounded his village. He stared down at the ground, watching water well up and run away from his boots. He was making for the bench carved from a fallen oak tree. He knew it well. He used to walk his golden retriever up here. He reached it. No-one was in sight, as usual. He liked it that way. When people were around him they tended to make a noise in his thoughts.
And Ben never wondered how strange that was.
He sat down heavily on the bench and rested his head on his upraised palms.
"Ah, there you are. Been waiting for you."
The voice cut into Bens forced solitude, nervous impulses jerking his spine upright. A boy of about his age was sitting next to him, clad in a heavy raincoat and a dark suit. He was attempting to whistle a jaunty tune, but Ben got the feeling that jaunty was not a natural state for this man.
"Who the hell are you?" asked Ben angrily. He did not like to be disturbed.
"Now thats not very polite. I come up here of my own accord. These shoes are suede, you know."
Ben stood. This guy seemed innocent enough, but he felt dangerous.
"Oh calm down Ben. I am you, after all."
A silence hung over the conversation.
"You're...what?" said Ben.
"You. Now, onto business..."
"Hang on a minute. What the...Who..What on God's green earth are you babbling about?"
The other man leant back on the bench. Ben, despite himself, looked at the guys features. The age was the same, sure, but apart from that they shared nothing in common. Ben said as much.
"You're only looking in the normal dimensions, Benjamin." said the man, cryptically.
"Don't you have a name?" asked Ben.
"Well, yes. It's Ben." said Ben.
"This is a little creepy, you know. Are you an escapee from the mental prision up at..."
"No, No, No! I. Am. You. Please pay attention."
"Why don't you shut u.." began Ben.
"Fourty seven minutes ago you wished that you were 8 again."
Ben stopped. He turned away, gasping for air. It's a trick, thats all. But how could he know my thoughts? He turned back.
The man was gone. Ben span around quickly, looked under the bench, even over the hedge. He'd simply vanished. Ben dragged a hand over his face to wipe away nervous sweat and took a couple of paces backwards. Then he turned around and sprinted back to the village. He'd never wonder why there were only one set of footprints leading up the hill.
--
"Faith makes everybody scared, see I know, you don't know, keeps me hanging on..."
Ben mouthed the words to the song as he lay on his wooden floor, staring out at the rain. He turned a gemstone over and over in his fingers. There was nothing special about it. Ben preferred not to have contact with anything especially special. He wasn't special enough, you see. Ben grinned at the ceiling. The ceiling was white. Plain, like him. Ben sighed, and banged his head gently against the aged floor. He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him.
When he opened them, he was standing on a moor. Ben knew it was a moor because a sign was in front of him, saying "Moor". He looked around, wide-eyed. He'd closed his eyes a second ago, he couldn't have fallen asleep. Surely. He'd turned full circle now. Nothing in sight. Just a massive rolling mass of...moor, like the sign said. Then Ben saw something in the distance. Something Ben swore hadn't been there before.
"This makes no sense." said Ben. Then he shrugged and set off towards the distant object. Hey, if this was a dream, what harm can it do, right?
He took one step, and the object came to him. Somehow. It was a flat boulder, with a girl sitting cross-legged on top. She was dressed in a flowing dress, and her brown hair cascaded onto her shoulders and caught the light. She was beautiful, Ben realised. And...reading. She was concentrating on a book, eyes skimming lightly over the words. Ben twisted his head to read it. Then he gulped and waved his hand in front of his eyes several times. Then he looked again. Nothing had changed. The only word on the page was his name, in large font, repeated over and over.
I'm just dreaming, thought Ben. Instataneously, the girl looked up, treating him to a dazzling smile.
"You're not dreaming." she grinned at him. Ben found himself gaping, again. And not just because he felt a blush burning at his cheeks.
"I...uh...you can read my mind?" he asked, stuttering. He never stuttered.
"Well, I am you after all." she said happily, and pushed herself up off the rock. She gave Ben a tight hug, and kissed him lightly. Then she gave a laugh and skipped off among the heather. Ben just stared after her.
"Jesus Christ almighty..." he thought. What the hell is going on?
"Don't ask me. I mean you." she shouted back at him, and then laughed at a joke only she could hear.
--
Ben sat bolt upright on the floor of his room. The rain was still lashing down, as if determined to shatter the glass. He gasped, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth. It felt dry, as if he'd been asleep for hours.
"I am falling into grace, to the unknown..."
The same song was playing. What was going on? He glanced at his watch. It was half an hour before he'd fallen asleep, or whatever had just happened to him? Ben pushed his fingers into his temples and started a slow clockwise rotation. God damn, his head hurt. He locked his fingers and pushed them against the back of his head, laying back on the floor. If it was half an hour ago, then he'd just be getting back from the walk. But how could he, when he was here?
"Yeah, thats a knotty one, that." said a familiar voice. Ben jerked upright and felt a muscle in his arm scream in protest. He grimaced and pulled his arms free, glaring at the figure sitting in his aquamarine chair.
"You're not real. You can't be me." spat Ben. All this was annoying him, and threatening to rip him apart.
"And you'd love that, wouldn't you?" continued the figure, ignoring Ben. "To be shattered, destroyed, by something you can't understand. The ultimate irony."
"You're just a figment of my imagination." muttered Ben.
"Oh, a figment, am I? Are you?" He leant closer and grabbed Ben's chin with two fingers, tilting his head so he was whispering into Ben's ear. "Do you really think you've got the imagination for this?"
He let go, and Ben's head sagged. He covered his face with his hands, and leant forward. The man settled himself in the chair, staring out of the window.
"Now," he continued, "someone like you might concieve an elaborate scheme for how you'd been thrust back in time half an hour while in your sleep. Perhaps a temporal fold, or an anomaly. Something...deep. You'd like that. Whereas, someone like me, that is to say, you, would simply do this."
He leant forward, grabbed Ben's wrist, and pulled the watch off. He twirled the dial half an hour forward, and pointed to the clock on the wall. The times matched. The man laughed. And Ben laughed, finally, tears seeping down his arms. They laughed together, feeling the humour well up inside them.
Ben suddenly lurched forwards, swinging a muscled arm in rage, face screwed up in anger.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" yelled Ben. His fist connected with nothing.
The room was empty.
I have just read pbs and that took ages i aint going to read yours just yet. Does it have me in? If not why?
Hm.. you may as well have posted that in chat :)
It's still excellant gaz, if it a little confusing. I demand the second part. *Waves a flag*
It's still excellant gaz, if it a little confusing. I demand the second part. *Waves a flag*
Fosbe wrote:
> I have just read pbs and that took ages i aint going to read yours
> just yet. Does it have me in? If not why?
--
I tell you what. You promise to not read it, and then you can imagine you're in it.
Tool.
> I have just read pbs and that took ages i aint going to read yours
> just yet. Does it have me in? If not why?
--
I tell you what. You promise to not read it, and then you can imagine you're in it.
Tool.
you stole my title for a future novel...
well i suppose you claimed it first so best of luck (t'was very well written) (or is that wrote?)
well i suppose you claimed it first so best of luck (t'was very well written) (or is that wrote?)
- II
Ben staggered out of his room, dragging a jacket over his back. The muscle in his arm throbbed, but he had more pressing issues to worry about. His sanity, for one thing. And if he had enough money to get completely drunk at the local. That was crucial. He ripped his wallet out of his pocket and leafed through the notes in it. Thank God for inheritance, eh? He tore down the stairs, yelled goodbye to his parents, and slammed the door after him. His head was swimming. Images kept flashing through it. Stuff he really didn't like to see.
Ben wrenched open the door of the pub. He slumped into a barstool and looked up at the bartender.
"Oh god no..."
He looked at himself. A perfect copy. He looked at himself smiling at himself. Ben gaped. The other Ben gaped.
"If I ask you for a beer, you're going to repeat what I say, aren't you?" said Ben, slowly, pronouncing each word perfectly.
"Well, actually, I would ask for I.D., but since..."
"Yeah, I know, you're me." said Ben, wearily.
"Actually, since I know you're the kid from the other end of the village, here you go. Usual. I'll put it on the tab."
Ben looked up again. "Whats your name, barkeep?" he asked slowly.
"Ben. Whats yours?" said the barkeep. Ben pounded the bar with his right hand.
"Sod off."
"What?"
"Just leave. Get out."
"I'm the bloody barkeeper, friend!"
Ben grabbed his beer and turned round to sit in a nice secluded corner of the pub. Then he stopped. His pint glass tumbled slowly to the floor, shattered into rough, and most importantly, sharp fragments.
Everyone in the bar had his face. Men, and women. He ran to each one, twisting them round to stare wildly into their face. Surely one wouldn't be him. Surely. He twisted another women round, another that looked exactly like him.
"Oi! Thats my wife! You OK, Ben?" asked a man, who looked exactly like Ben.
"This man is scaring me, Ben dear." said the woman, who looked exactly like Ben.
"WHY ARE YOU ALL USING MY NAME?" screamed Ben. The real Ben. That is, the Ben that walked into the pub. Last.
"What is this guy talking about?" said another man from the bar. His name was Ben.
"Deck him!" yelled another Ben, this time a woman.
And they set upon him. Ben couldn't remember much after the first punch or twenty. He thought he felt his nose break at one point. His arm slid through the broken beer glass, imbedding it with fragments. He thought he may have passed out at that point. The next thing he rememebered was waking up in the deathly quiet lane outside the pub. He groaned. It was quite possible he was feeling too much pain to be actually feeling any of it. He laughed quietly at the sheer ridiculousness of his last couple of hours, and felt or heard or possibly smelt blood bubbling in the back of his throat. Passing out again presented a viable option at this point.
"Come on, up you get." a female voice. He felt a gentle force tug him upwards on his left side, and he felt his maimed left arm be slung across a shoulder. On his right side a taller figure swung his shoulders into Ben's armpit, propping him up.
"Sigh...Ben, Ben, Ben...What did you get us into this time?" A male voice.
That sentence clicked in Ben's head as they entered the harsh glow of a streetlight. He clumsily threw off the hands supported him. He cartwheeled his arms to try and maintain balance, but shot backwards and fell hard on his back. He glared up at the man and the woman. The two people who had been screwing with his head.
"Go. Away." he muttered. "You aren't me. This is all some sick joke. Ever seen Being John Malkovitch? What am I saying, of course you have...Who's paying you?" he demanded, finally. Then he sucked in deep breaths. And that hurt, because his ribs were badly bruised, and in some cases broken. He sobbed.
"Ben. Look at my arm." said the female voice gently. "Look." Something in the voice compelled Ben to look upwards. The woman with the flowing dress had her tanned arm thrust out before her. Semi dry blood was crusting on it. He could see faint fragments of glass rammed into it, but they weren't solid. He could see right through them.
"Of course you can see right through them." chided the man in the suit. He sounded amused. "It's glass, stupid."
Ben swallowed, and looked down at his own arm. Pieces of glass protuded from it, and crusted blood covered it. He looked in wonder up at the woman, and then reached delicately for one of the smaller pieces of glass in his arm. He screwed up his rage, preparing for the pain.
"I wouldn't do that. No, please don't d.." said the woman, starting forward. Ben wrenched the piece of glass free, pain jolting through every nerve fibre in his body. He cried out, gasping for air. The woman screamed in agony as blood spurted anew from an arm. One of the pieces of glass had disappeared from her arm. She clasped a hand over the wound at the same instant Ben did so. He gulped against the pain, brow furrowed as he tried to work out what he'd seen. Then he turned to the man, triumphantly, as cogs clicked in his mind.
"If you're me, where's your wounds? Eh?" he crowed. The man grinned.
"Oh, I'm cut. Cut the same as me and me here." grinned the man.
"Where?" asked Ben, pointing at his arm, shrugging off the absurdity of that sentence.
"Oh, the question is not where, but when." said the man, still grinning. He bent down to touch the dial on Ben's watch. "Temporal fold, remember, scientific man?" He wrenched the dial around.
The world blurred.
--
Ben sat bolt upright, gulping for air. He was in bed, and sunlight was streaming in through the window. It was tommorrow...It can never be tommorrow, Ben thought. Then he lay back and ran his fingers down the cut arm. He wasn't entirely surprised to find that it wasn't cut or slick with blood in any way. He rested his arms on his stomach and hummed to himself. All he needed to do was think about this rationally. That'll help, surely.
So, yesterday I met a man who claimed to be me, knew what I was thinking and disappeared without trace. Then I appeared in a moor and talked to a woman who claimed to be me, knew what I was thinking and appeared without trace..
This was stupid. Ben span and sat up on the side of his head, groaning slightly. Too fast to be moving at this time in the morning...What time was it? He remembered something...vaguely...someone twisting his watch dial? Muh, too early. He glanced down at his watch. It was frozen at half past eight in the morning. Damn, he'd only just had the battery changed. And this was a diving watch and all, with batteries supposed to last years. He heaved himself out of bed and reached for a dressing gown, tying it around himself as he staggered across the room to his spare watch. As he went he glanced up at the clock on his wall. It was frozen. At half eight. Ben blinked and looked again. The second hand was well and truly stuck. Ben quickly moved across to it and hammered it. Nothing moved, and now his hand hurt. He shook his head and grabbed for his spare watch, knowing before he glared at the face what time it would say. Half past eight. He roared and threw it across the room. He dragged on some clothes and hurtled out of the room. He kicked open the door to his sisters room, and looked it and fancy pink clock she had tilted at a fashionable angle on her wall. Half past eight, frozen. He sagged to the ground. Maybe this was another trick. The man and woman had taken every battery out of the clocks in the house, to drive him insane. Or something.
"Oh, its no trick."
Ben ignored the man suddenly lounging on the ragtag sofa, racing over to his sister. He'd just noticed something. Her chest wasn't rising. He fought panic as he turned her over, feeling for a pulse. There was none. Panic overwhelmed him as he grabbed her arm. It was stiff. Impossible to move.
"Oh, not impossible. You'd have to break her arm though, and heck, I don't think she'd like that, sport." grinned the man. He carefully peeled a orange. Ben looked around wildly, and grabbed the man by his jacket, slamming him against the wall.
"You killed her, you bas##rd! She's not breathing!" He puntuated each word by slamming the man against the wall, harder and harder. Tears were flowing out of his eyes. Oh God...
"She's not dead." said another voice. The door opened by itself and the woman with the flowing dress walked into the room, concern tinting her voice. She gently pulled Ben from the man in the suit and hugged him, tenderly.
"Watch." she said, and took him by the hand, leading him over to his sister. She passed a hand over his sisters face, and her chest began to rise again in the ease of sleep. Then she waved it again and the breathing stopping. Ben felt his legs give way beneath him, but the man shot across the room and caught him before he fell. Ben felt relieve inside him such as he had never known. For half a terrible minute he'd known his sister was dead. This relief was shoved out of his system as rage flooded into him. He'll f##king kill them...
"You can't kill yourself, so don't even try." said the man, with contempt in his voice."You're the science whizz around her, Einstein. What've you done?"
Ben just looked angry. He could feel red mist in his eyes.
"I have stopped time." said the man simply.
Thats impossible, thought Ben.
"Thats impossible." said Ben.
"Yes, I would think that, wouldn't I?" said the man, pushing back cuticles around his nails. "You don't believe me. Go outside, thinktank boy."
Ben looked at him.
"Oh, we're perfectly real." said the woman, plucking the words out of Ben's mind. Ben looked at her and her flowing dress and her dazzling beauty, and then at the man and his designer suit and his quiet air of danger. Then he pelted downstairs, wrenching open the door. He could feel a great weight on it, as if it was resisting being moved -so- quickly. He vaulted the gate and skidded to a halt in the middle of the road. He stared at a car, stopped dead in the middle of the road, it's headlights glaring. A bird hung in mid-air, half a worm dangling from its beak. A rabbit was caught frozen in mid-dash, and Ben could see autumn leafs not moving in the total lack of breeze. He rubbed his face furiously, as if willing himself to wake up. He felt two arms slide round his waist. The woman smiled up at him.
"It's no dream. Really, Ben, why won't you believe who we are?" she said, and kissed him again on the nose, before stepped gracefully backwards.
"Time is stopped, Benjamin." said the man idly, leaning on the bonnet of the car. Ben searched for something to say. Anything.
"What is your name?" he gasped finally. Anything to break the silence. He'd never heard silence like this before.
"I told you, " he said, slowly, as if talking to a mental patient. "It's Be.."
"MY name is Ben. Can't you have something different?"
The man looked across at the woman. She smiled and shrugged. The man inclined his head to one side, as if to dismiss the issue, and looked back at Ben.
"Very well. Call me...Neb."
"Thats just my name backwards." said Ben angrily.
"Take it or leave it." said the newly christened Neb idly, and chewed on a cocktail stick. Ben turned to the woman, a mild insanity beginning to grip his mind.
"And I suppose you're going to say your name is Neb too?"
She smiled again, flashing a perfect set of white teeth. "Oh no. Call me Jenny."
He raised his eyebrows in question. "Why?"
"Why not?" she said, and danced off into the shadows. In seconds she'd disappeared. Ben shook his head in dismissal and turned back to the man.
"Make. This. Stop." growled Ben. Anger was nearly radiating off him. Neb stood up straight, and threw an arm round Ben's shoulder.
"You sure about that?"
"Make. Time. Go." said Ben, fists clenched. Neb nodded, and gently twisted Ben's head round to look at the car.
"You've only got two wishes left now." he laughed, and disappeared.
Ben registered what was happening milliseconds before time flowed back into the world. Even if he'd tried to scream, he would have had no time before the car slammed into him.
Ben staggered out of his room, dragging a jacket over his back. The muscle in his arm throbbed, but he had more pressing issues to worry about. His sanity, for one thing. And if he had enough money to get completely drunk at the local. That was crucial. He ripped his wallet out of his pocket and leafed through the notes in it. Thank God for inheritance, eh? He tore down the stairs, yelled goodbye to his parents, and slammed the door after him. His head was swimming. Images kept flashing through it. Stuff he really didn't like to see.
Ben wrenched open the door of the pub. He slumped into a barstool and looked up at the bartender.
"Oh god no..."
He looked at himself. A perfect copy. He looked at himself smiling at himself. Ben gaped. The other Ben gaped.
"If I ask you for a beer, you're going to repeat what I say, aren't you?" said Ben, slowly, pronouncing each word perfectly.
"Well, actually, I would ask for I.D., but since..."
"Yeah, I know, you're me." said Ben, wearily.
"Actually, since I know you're the kid from the other end of the village, here you go. Usual. I'll put it on the tab."
Ben looked up again. "Whats your name, barkeep?" he asked slowly.
"Ben. Whats yours?" said the barkeep. Ben pounded the bar with his right hand.
"Sod off."
"What?"
"Just leave. Get out."
"I'm the bloody barkeeper, friend!"
Ben grabbed his beer and turned round to sit in a nice secluded corner of the pub. Then he stopped. His pint glass tumbled slowly to the floor, shattered into rough, and most importantly, sharp fragments.
Everyone in the bar had his face. Men, and women. He ran to each one, twisting them round to stare wildly into their face. Surely one wouldn't be him. Surely. He twisted another women round, another that looked exactly like him.
"Oi! Thats my wife! You OK, Ben?" asked a man, who looked exactly like Ben.
"This man is scaring me, Ben dear." said the woman, who looked exactly like Ben.
"WHY ARE YOU ALL USING MY NAME?" screamed Ben. The real Ben. That is, the Ben that walked into the pub. Last.
"What is this guy talking about?" said another man from the bar. His name was Ben.
"Deck him!" yelled another Ben, this time a woman.
And they set upon him. Ben couldn't remember much after the first punch or twenty. He thought he felt his nose break at one point. His arm slid through the broken beer glass, imbedding it with fragments. He thought he may have passed out at that point. The next thing he rememebered was waking up in the deathly quiet lane outside the pub. He groaned. It was quite possible he was feeling too much pain to be actually feeling any of it. He laughed quietly at the sheer ridiculousness of his last couple of hours, and felt or heard or possibly smelt blood bubbling in the back of his throat. Passing out again presented a viable option at this point.
"Come on, up you get." a female voice. He felt a gentle force tug him upwards on his left side, and he felt his maimed left arm be slung across a shoulder. On his right side a taller figure swung his shoulders into Ben's armpit, propping him up.
"Sigh...Ben, Ben, Ben...What did you get us into this time?" A male voice.
That sentence clicked in Ben's head as they entered the harsh glow of a streetlight. He clumsily threw off the hands supported him. He cartwheeled his arms to try and maintain balance, but shot backwards and fell hard on his back. He glared up at the man and the woman. The two people who had been screwing with his head.
"Go. Away." he muttered. "You aren't me. This is all some sick joke. Ever seen Being John Malkovitch? What am I saying, of course you have...Who's paying you?" he demanded, finally. Then he sucked in deep breaths. And that hurt, because his ribs were badly bruised, and in some cases broken. He sobbed.
"Ben. Look at my arm." said the female voice gently. "Look." Something in the voice compelled Ben to look upwards. The woman with the flowing dress had her tanned arm thrust out before her. Semi dry blood was crusting on it. He could see faint fragments of glass rammed into it, but they weren't solid. He could see right through them.
"Of course you can see right through them." chided the man in the suit. He sounded amused. "It's glass, stupid."
Ben swallowed, and looked down at his own arm. Pieces of glass protuded from it, and crusted blood covered it. He looked in wonder up at the woman, and then reached delicately for one of the smaller pieces of glass in his arm. He screwed up his rage, preparing for the pain.
"I wouldn't do that. No, please don't d.." said the woman, starting forward. Ben wrenched the piece of glass free, pain jolting through every nerve fibre in his body. He cried out, gasping for air. The woman screamed in agony as blood spurted anew from an arm. One of the pieces of glass had disappeared from her arm. She clasped a hand over the wound at the same instant Ben did so. He gulped against the pain, brow furrowed as he tried to work out what he'd seen. Then he turned to the man, triumphantly, as cogs clicked in his mind.
"If you're me, where's your wounds? Eh?" he crowed. The man grinned.
"Oh, I'm cut. Cut the same as me and me here." grinned the man.
"Where?" asked Ben, pointing at his arm, shrugging off the absurdity of that sentence.
"Oh, the question is not where, but when." said the man, still grinning. He bent down to touch the dial on Ben's watch. "Temporal fold, remember, scientific man?" He wrenched the dial around.
The world blurred.
--
Ben sat bolt upright, gulping for air. He was in bed, and sunlight was streaming in through the window. It was tommorrow...It can never be tommorrow, Ben thought. Then he lay back and ran his fingers down the cut arm. He wasn't entirely surprised to find that it wasn't cut or slick with blood in any way. He rested his arms on his stomach and hummed to himself. All he needed to do was think about this rationally. That'll help, surely.
So, yesterday I met a man who claimed to be me, knew what I was thinking and disappeared without trace. Then I appeared in a moor and talked to a woman who claimed to be me, knew what I was thinking and appeared without trace..
This was stupid. Ben span and sat up on the side of his head, groaning slightly. Too fast to be moving at this time in the morning...What time was it? He remembered something...vaguely...someone twisting his watch dial? Muh, too early. He glanced down at his watch. It was frozen at half past eight in the morning. Damn, he'd only just had the battery changed. And this was a diving watch and all, with batteries supposed to last years. He heaved himself out of bed and reached for a dressing gown, tying it around himself as he staggered across the room to his spare watch. As he went he glanced up at the clock on his wall. It was frozen. At half eight. Ben blinked and looked again. The second hand was well and truly stuck. Ben quickly moved across to it and hammered it. Nothing moved, and now his hand hurt. He shook his head and grabbed for his spare watch, knowing before he glared at the face what time it would say. Half past eight. He roared and threw it across the room. He dragged on some clothes and hurtled out of the room. He kicked open the door to his sisters room, and looked it and fancy pink clock she had tilted at a fashionable angle on her wall. Half past eight, frozen. He sagged to the ground. Maybe this was another trick. The man and woman had taken every battery out of the clocks in the house, to drive him insane. Or something.
"Oh, its no trick."
Ben ignored the man suddenly lounging on the ragtag sofa, racing over to his sister. He'd just noticed something. Her chest wasn't rising. He fought panic as he turned her over, feeling for a pulse. There was none. Panic overwhelmed him as he grabbed her arm. It was stiff. Impossible to move.
"Oh, not impossible. You'd have to break her arm though, and heck, I don't think she'd like that, sport." grinned the man. He carefully peeled a orange. Ben looked around wildly, and grabbed the man by his jacket, slamming him against the wall.
"You killed her, you bas##rd! She's not breathing!" He puntuated each word by slamming the man against the wall, harder and harder. Tears were flowing out of his eyes. Oh God...
"She's not dead." said another voice. The door opened by itself and the woman with the flowing dress walked into the room, concern tinting her voice. She gently pulled Ben from the man in the suit and hugged him, tenderly.
"Watch." she said, and took him by the hand, leading him over to his sister. She passed a hand over his sisters face, and her chest began to rise again in the ease of sleep. Then she waved it again and the breathing stopping. Ben felt his legs give way beneath him, but the man shot across the room and caught him before he fell. Ben felt relieve inside him such as he had never known. For half a terrible minute he'd known his sister was dead. This relief was shoved out of his system as rage flooded into him. He'll f##king kill them...
"You can't kill yourself, so don't even try." said the man, with contempt in his voice."You're the science whizz around her, Einstein. What've you done?"
Ben just looked angry. He could feel red mist in his eyes.
"I have stopped time." said the man simply.
Thats impossible, thought Ben.
"Thats impossible." said Ben.
"Yes, I would think that, wouldn't I?" said the man, pushing back cuticles around his nails. "You don't believe me. Go outside, thinktank boy."
Ben looked at him.
"Oh, we're perfectly real." said the woman, plucking the words out of Ben's mind. Ben looked at her and her flowing dress and her dazzling beauty, and then at the man and his designer suit and his quiet air of danger. Then he pelted downstairs, wrenching open the door. He could feel a great weight on it, as if it was resisting being moved -so- quickly. He vaulted the gate and skidded to a halt in the middle of the road. He stared at a car, stopped dead in the middle of the road, it's headlights glaring. A bird hung in mid-air, half a worm dangling from its beak. A rabbit was caught frozen in mid-dash, and Ben could see autumn leafs not moving in the total lack of breeze. He rubbed his face furiously, as if willing himself to wake up. He felt two arms slide round his waist. The woman smiled up at him.
"It's no dream. Really, Ben, why won't you believe who we are?" she said, and kissed him again on the nose, before stepped gracefully backwards.
"Time is stopped, Benjamin." said the man idly, leaning on the bonnet of the car. Ben searched for something to say. Anything.
"What is your name?" he gasped finally. Anything to break the silence. He'd never heard silence like this before.
"I told you, " he said, slowly, as if talking to a mental patient. "It's Be.."
"MY name is Ben. Can't you have something different?"
The man looked across at the woman. She smiled and shrugged. The man inclined his head to one side, as if to dismiss the issue, and looked back at Ben.
"Very well. Call me...Neb."
"Thats just my name backwards." said Ben angrily.
"Take it or leave it." said the newly christened Neb idly, and chewed on a cocktail stick. Ben turned to the woman, a mild insanity beginning to grip his mind.
"And I suppose you're going to say your name is Neb too?"
She smiled again, flashing a perfect set of white teeth. "Oh no. Call me Jenny."
He raised his eyebrows in question. "Why?"
"Why not?" she said, and danced off into the shadows. In seconds she'd disappeared. Ben shook his head in dismissal and turned back to the man.
"Make. This. Stop." growled Ben. Anger was nearly radiating off him. Neb stood up straight, and threw an arm round Ben's shoulder.
"You sure about that?"
"Make. Time. Go." said Ben, fists clenched. Neb nodded, and gently twisted Ben's head round to look at the car.
"You've only got two wishes left now." he laughed, and disappeared.
Ben registered what was happening milliseconds before time flowed back into the world. Even if he'd tried to scream, he would have had no time before the car slammed into him.
- III
The world was black. Ben considered this. There were quasi-colours swirling in the darkness, but Ben dismissed them. Mainly because his head hurt too much to think in anything but monotone. Maybe this is what it felt like to be dead. Floating in eternal darkness. Forever. Kinda poetic really, mused Ben.
Then he opened his eyes.
"Oh...crap." moaned Ben. The world WAS monotone. Everything was black and white. Not a single bit of colour in the room. Which looked like a sparsely decorated hospital room, to be honest. A curtain was drawn around his bed, and a slightly wilted bunch of flowers was arranged on the chest of drawers next to his bed. Then a doctor opened the curtains, grinning slightly. Ben shielded his eyes from the entire lack of colour outside.
"Where does it hurt?" asked the doctor, in a voice that in no way approached concerned.
"Uh, pretty much everywhere." grimaced Ben, testing a couple of muscle. Pain shot through his bones. "Yup, lets no try that again. Um, what happened? I remember...a car?" His memory was bruised, possibly.
"Yes, you remember a car. I was there. Do you remember that?"
Ben took his hands from his eyes. And sighed. " You again?"
"Yes, tis me. Neb." said Neb, smiling aimlessly. "Like the flowers? You picked them."
"I did?"
"Yes. I mean, the Ben that is Jenny did."
"Cool...Where's she?" Ben realised he actually wanted to see Jenny. Wierd.
"Oh, we do as we please. She could be anywhere. At the moment I think she's in Tibet."
"Ti...what?"
"Only joking." grinned Neb again. "God, I hurt."
"You do?"
"Yes, you do."
Ye gods, thought Ben, this is hurting my head in ways I didn't think possible.
"Yeah...Life's a bit#h. Right, drink up." said Neb, putting a bottle of beer on Ben's table.
"This is medicine?" asked Ben, increduously.
"Could be, could very well be." nodded Neb. Then he left. And it was like he'd never been there. The bottle of beer was filled with beer, surprisingly. Ben actually hadn't seen that one coming. He tried to lift an arm to take a swig, and realised something was holding him back. A variety of needles impaled his arm.
Ow, thought Ben. I suppose this is blood. I guess I must have left a ton of the stuff on that car. He looked up at the plastic packages strung up on a stand. He blinked. By now he should have gotten used to believing the unbelievable. He scanned the different labels.
"Imagination." "Faith." "Hope." "Misery." "Envy." "Anger." "Sexuality."
"Sexuality?" exclaimed Ben. A light hearted chuckle sounded from behind the curtain. Ben shouted out, but no-one replied. Then the giggle sounded again. Gah, I'm falling for one of the oldest tricks in the book, moaned Ben, as he ripped the needles from his arm en masse.
"Yeah, that was clever." muttered Ben, as he wrapped a bandage round the piercings. He was surprised to find he was fully clothed as he swung his legs out of bed. Then the pain as he stood up forced any other thought from his head.
"Yup, I don't believe there's any part of me not hurting. And the world is in black and white. I'm looking for a woman who claims to be me, and I'm talking to myself. Tell me I'm not crazy."
Then he clutched at the curtain, ripping it down. His mouth dropped. The moor stretched out in every direction, the stark beauty of the moment emphasised by the harsh wind tearing at his face and the monotone view. He shook his head in bewilderment. Something was wrong.
"Yeah, something is pretty damn wrong, wouldn't you say?" Neb was sitting cross-legged in a patch of heather.
"What am I doing here?" asked Ben.
"You're asking me? If you don't know, how the hell am I supposed to know?"
Ben staggered slightly.
"Hey, hey...Take it easy." It was Jenny's voice. She appeared at his side, holding him upright with concern in her eyes. Ben looked at her, sheer incomprehension echoed in her.
"Where are we?"
"Trapped." She said simply.
"Where?" Ben span around. The hospital room had disappeared, along with his hope. And his sexuality, apparently. "What were you pumping into me back there?"
"All that you were lacking." she said, softly.
"That was a lot."
"Then perhaps you were lacking a lot. Listen, can we please get back to the issue at hand. We're bloody lost in the middle of a moor that has appeared from nowhere!" snapped Neb.
"What do you propose we do then?" said Jenny, calmly.
"Go North." replied Neb quickly.
"Why?"
"Because Go West sounds tacky?" suggested Neb. "Come on, get your compass out."
"I don't have a co..." Ben started, then smiled. He dragged a compass out of his jacket pocket. He held it flat in his palm. And then he sighed.
The dial was spinning wildly. They all looked at it. Then they looked at each other.
"B****r." said Neb.
The world was black. Ben considered this. There were quasi-colours swirling in the darkness, but Ben dismissed them. Mainly because his head hurt too much to think in anything but monotone. Maybe this is what it felt like to be dead. Floating in eternal darkness. Forever. Kinda poetic really, mused Ben.
Then he opened his eyes.
"Oh...crap." moaned Ben. The world WAS monotone. Everything was black and white. Not a single bit of colour in the room. Which looked like a sparsely decorated hospital room, to be honest. A curtain was drawn around his bed, and a slightly wilted bunch of flowers was arranged on the chest of drawers next to his bed. Then a doctor opened the curtains, grinning slightly. Ben shielded his eyes from the entire lack of colour outside.
"Where does it hurt?" asked the doctor, in a voice that in no way approached concerned.
"Uh, pretty much everywhere." grimaced Ben, testing a couple of muscle. Pain shot through his bones. "Yup, lets no try that again. Um, what happened? I remember...a car?" His memory was bruised, possibly.
"Yes, you remember a car. I was there. Do you remember that?"
Ben took his hands from his eyes. And sighed. " You again?"
"Yes, tis me. Neb." said Neb, smiling aimlessly. "Like the flowers? You picked them."
"I did?"
"Yes. I mean, the Ben that is Jenny did."
"Cool...Where's she?" Ben realised he actually wanted to see Jenny. Wierd.
"Oh, we do as we please. She could be anywhere. At the moment I think she's in Tibet."
"Ti...what?"
"Only joking." grinned Neb again. "God, I hurt."
"You do?"
"Yes, you do."
Ye gods, thought Ben, this is hurting my head in ways I didn't think possible.
"Yeah...Life's a bit#h. Right, drink up." said Neb, putting a bottle of beer on Ben's table.
"This is medicine?" asked Ben, increduously.
"Could be, could very well be." nodded Neb. Then he left. And it was like he'd never been there. The bottle of beer was filled with beer, surprisingly. Ben actually hadn't seen that one coming. He tried to lift an arm to take a swig, and realised something was holding him back. A variety of needles impaled his arm.
Ow, thought Ben. I suppose this is blood. I guess I must have left a ton of the stuff on that car. He looked up at the plastic packages strung up on a stand. He blinked. By now he should have gotten used to believing the unbelievable. He scanned the different labels.
"Imagination." "Faith." "Hope." "Misery." "Envy." "Anger." "Sexuality."
"Sexuality?" exclaimed Ben. A light hearted chuckle sounded from behind the curtain. Ben shouted out, but no-one replied. Then the giggle sounded again. Gah, I'm falling for one of the oldest tricks in the book, moaned Ben, as he ripped the needles from his arm en masse.
"Yeah, that was clever." muttered Ben, as he wrapped a bandage round the piercings. He was surprised to find he was fully clothed as he swung his legs out of bed. Then the pain as he stood up forced any other thought from his head.
"Yup, I don't believe there's any part of me not hurting. And the world is in black and white. I'm looking for a woman who claims to be me, and I'm talking to myself. Tell me I'm not crazy."
Then he clutched at the curtain, ripping it down. His mouth dropped. The moor stretched out in every direction, the stark beauty of the moment emphasised by the harsh wind tearing at his face and the monotone view. He shook his head in bewilderment. Something was wrong.
"Yeah, something is pretty damn wrong, wouldn't you say?" Neb was sitting cross-legged in a patch of heather.
"What am I doing here?" asked Ben.
"You're asking me? If you don't know, how the hell am I supposed to know?"
Ben staggered slightly.
"Hey, hey...Take it easy." It was Jenny's voice. She appeared at his side, holding him upright with concern in her eyes. Ben looked at her, sheer incomprehension echoed in her.
"Where are we?"
"Trapped." She said simply.
"Where?" Ben span around. The hospital room had disappeared, along with his hope. And his sexuality, apparently. "What were you pumping into me back there?"
"All that you were lacking." she said, softly.
"That was a lot."
"Then perhaps you were lacking a lot. Listen, can we please get back to the issue at hand. We're bloody lost in the middle of a moor that has appeared from nowhere!" snapped Neb.
"What do you propose we do then?" said Jenny, calmly.
"Go North." replied Neb quickly.
"Why?"
"Because Go West sounds tacky?" suggested Neb. "Come on, get your compass out."
"I don't have a co..." Ben started, then smiled. He dragged a compass out of his jacket pocket. He held it flat in his palm. And then he sighed.
The dial was spinning wildly. They all looked at it. Then they looked at each other.
"B****r." said Neb.
A complex tale full of intrigue, and one that I enjoyed reading, but found thought provoking in equal measures. I was especially intrigued by the 'everyone looks like Ben' syndrome bit, and I have a few theories on the whole story so far.
I await the next chapter.
I await the next chapter.
- IV
The world was still black and white, Ben noticed. He was trekking along in knee-high heather and that annoyingly sharp grass. He didn't really have any clue where they were going. Damn, another grass strand had just sliced into his hand as he let it dangle. He sucked at the gray blood, wincing. Neb was having just as much trouble, he noticed with significant glee. Jenny, on the other hand...
"How the hell are you floating?" asked Ben, finally, glaring at the elfin figure sitting cross-legged about head level.
"You imagined it, so it must be true. In this world, I am king. Or queen, whichever personification I am at the moment. To be honest, I'm beginning to think Neb is the queen in this situation." said Jenny.
"Jenny's not your actual name, is it?"
"No. It's Ben."
Ben thought about this again, pitching various thoughts against one another in the not-so-private confines of his head. Then it clicked.
"Which part of me are you?" asked Ben, a smug grin tugging at his lips. Jenny smiled, and rotated to face him. He reached down and patted him playfully on the head.
"Very good!" she grinned. And then she bounced. Why this was, Ben wasn't certain. She just did. Until he grabbed her, and she stopped. Then she wrapped her arms around him. Ben shouted in fear as the ground dropped away from him. Normally this would mean he was going up, but in this case, the ground was actually going down. Jenny floated easily, holding Ben's hand loosely. Ben drew in deep breathes. The ground was miles below him now. Somehow he could still hear Neb swearing. That made him grin. Only briefly though, fear clutched at his stomach again.
"You see all this?" asled Jenny, waving a hand vaguely. Ben looked around. Hey, anything was better than down. Moor stretched out for untold leagues, with laces of blue streaking through it. Far away Ben thought he could see the ground give way to towering cliffs and a deep blue sea with foaming waves crashing against the stone.
"This is paradise." whispered Ben, in wonder.
"Really?" asked Jenny. "Most people would imagine a lush tropical island if asked to imagine paradise."
"The harsh beauty of it..." muttered Ben, waving his hands about. "It's...all I could have imagined."
"Exactly." She whispered into his ear. "You imagined, I created."
He turned to look at her. "You...are my imagination?"
She smiled. " Yes. Think about your perfect woman and I bet you'll come up with my image."
"But...you were feeding me imagination back in the hospital place."
"Hey, I didn't say you had a perfect mind, boy." she said mockingly, stroking his cheek. "I'd perfer a little more cleavage here. But it'll do, for now."
Ben shook his head. "Couple of days ago, this would have seemed really strange to me." he grinned.
She smiled back at him. Then she opened her eyes wide. " Hey! You're a big lad. Want to use me?"
"What?"
She smiled seductively. "Go on, use me. For as long as you want."
He blinked, and grinned in a bemused way at her. Her dress was figure-hugging. And there was a very nice figure to hug there. He nodded apprecitavely.
"Oh my god, what am I thinking? Use you? I'm stuck in a moor for..." He stopped. This was because he was slowly falling downwards.
Jenny shook her head ruefully. "I told you to use me, didn't I?" Then she got up and stood in the air. She was wearing a green and black trouser suit now, and her feet were twinkling as she tapped out a tune on nothing. Meanwhile, Ben was picking up some speed.
"Come on, use me!" she yelled down at him, place her hands together in the small of her back as her dance tempo increased. "Standing on air? No problem. I can imagine it. Use me, boy. I'm desirable, right?"
Ben tried to answer, but the wind was whipping at his ears and mouth, so any sound was snatched away before it has time to get anywhere. Worse, he could begin to hear Neb's casual chatter.
"Imagination is only good up to a point, Ben. Now, Jenny is standing up there trying to save you."
Ben shouted back downwards at him. He was still picking up speed.
"SHUT UP NEB! Of all the things in the world I don't need, you top the sodding list."
Neb's voice once again floated upwards.
"Now, thats where you're wrong. Because of all the things you don't need, I'd say the top is momentum. And at the speed you're travelling, you've got a hell of a lot of momentum I don't want. It's all about physics, you see. Time, now. Time is what you really do need. Because I'd say you've got about three seconds before..."
Ben hit the ground.
--
The world was still black and white, Ben noticed. He was trekking along in knee-high heather and that annoyingly sharp grass. He didn't really have any clue where they were going. Damn, another grass strand had just sliced into his hand as he let it dangle. He sucked at the gray blood, wincing. Neb was having just as much trouble, he noticed with significant glee. Jenny, on the other hand...
"How the hell are you floating?" asked Ben, finally, glaring at the elfin figure sitting cross-legged about head level.
"You imagined it, so it must be true. In this world, I am king. Or queen, whichever personification I am at the moment. To be honest, I'm beginning to think Neb is the queen in this situation." said Jenny.
"Jenny's not your actual name, is it?"
"No. It's Ben."
Ben thought about this again, pitching various thoughts against one another in the not-so-private confines of his head. Then it clicked.
"Which part of me are you?" asked Ben, a smug grin tugging at his lips. Jenny smiled, and rotated to face him. He reached down and patted him playfully on the head.
"Very good!" she grinned. And then she bounced. Why this was, Ben wasn't certain. She just did. Until he grabbed her, and she stopped. Then she wrapped her arms around him. Ben shouted in fear as the ground dropped away from him. Normally this would mean he was going up, but in this case, the ground was actually going down. Jenny floated easily, holding Ben's hand loosely. Ben drew in deep breathes. The ground was miles below him now. Somehow he could still hear Neb swearing. That made him grin. Only briefly though, fear clutched at his stomach again.
"You see all this?" asled Jenny, waving a hand vaguely. Ben looked around. Hey, anything was better than down. Moor stretched out for untold leagues, with laces of blue streaking through it. Far away Ben thought he could see the ground give way to towering cliffs and a deep blue sea with foaming waves crashing against the stone.
"This is paradise." whispered Ben, in wonder.
"Really?" asked Jenny. "Most people would imagine a lush tropical island if asked to imagine paradise."
"The harsh beauty of it..." muttered Ben, waving his hands about. "It's...all I could have imagined."
"Exactly." She whispered into his ear. "You imagined, I created."
He turned to look at her. "You...are my imagination?"
She smiled. " Yes. Think about your perfect woman and I bet you'll come up with my image."
"But...you were feeding me imagination back in the hospital place."
"Hey, I didn't say you had a perfect mind, boy." she said mockingly, stroking his cheek. "I'd perfer a little more cleavage here. But it'll do, for now."
Ben shook his head. "Couple of days ago, this would have seemed really strange to me." he grinned.
She smiled back at him. Then she opened her eyes wide. " Hey! You're a big lad. Want to use me?"
"What?"
She smiled seductively. "Go on, use me. For as long as you want."
He blinked, and grinned in a bemused way at her. Her dress was figure-hugging. And there was a very nice figure to hug there. He nodded apprecitavely.
"Oh my god, what am I thinking? Use you? I'm stuck in a moor for..." He stopped. This was because he was slowly falling downwards.
Jenny shook her head ruefully. "I told you to use me, didn't I?" Then she got up and stood in the air. She was wearing a green and black trouser suit now, and her feet were twinkling as she tapped out a tune on nothing. Meanwhile, Ben was picking up some speed.
"Come on, use me!" she yelled down at him, place her hands together in the small of her back as her dance tempo increased. "Standing on air? No problem. I can imagine it. Use me, boy. I'm desirable, right?"
Ben tried to answer, but the wind was whipping at his ears and mouth, so any sound was snatched away before it has time to get anywhere. Worse, he could begin to hear Neb's casual chatter.
"Imagination is only good up to a point, Ben. Now, Jenny is standing up there trying to save you."
Ben shouted back downwards at him. He was still picking up speed.
"SHUT UP NEB! Of all the things in the world I don't need, you top the sodding list."
Neb's voice once again floated upwards.
"Now, thats where you're wrong. Because of all the things you don't need, I'd say the top is momentum. And at the speed you're travelling, you've got a hell of a lot of momentum I don't want. It's all about physics, you see. Time, now. Time is what you really do need. Because I'd say you've got about three seconds before..."
Ben hit the ground.
--
- V
Ben looked up. It was raining. This sort of summed up his day, really. Rain symbolises sorrow, and sorrow symbolises me. Because today I am bloody sorrowful that I'm me. Strange, he mused, I used to like rain. It was so full of life.
But that was a lifetime and a few hours ago.
He opened his eyes. Then he shut them again.
"You're still here then." he muttered.
"Yeah, well, haven't really got anywhere to go. I could go north into the splendidness that is moor, or south into some moor. If I'm feeling adventurous I'll go east into some moor, but I doubt I'll go west, because that way there's moor." said Neb. He was trying to smoke a cigarette, from the smell. And failing, from the sound of it.
Ben sat up. Neb was indeed spluttering over a cigarette. Ben raised an eyebrow at him. Neb held the stare for a moment, then chucked it away with some palitable relief.
"Hey, you thought they look cool. But who am I to argue with myself? Up you get then, we've got a lot of nothing to cover."
"It's sodding freezing." noted Ben. Accurately. Then he grasped Neb's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
"Yeah, well, I'm resilent. Speaking of that, you've got a supreme lack of death-causing crushed organs." quipped Neb.
Ben had to agree with him on this. He was, in fact, not dead. This was a surprising turn of events.
"Ah well. She'd so hoped you wouldn't be dead." said Neb. "Me too, actually."
"Really?" said Ben, with quite a bit of surprise.
"Yeah, surprised me too. Suppose you like living after all. How about that for a turn up for the books?"
Ben raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. His brain was working in overdrive. He had an inkling about what was going on, except he couldn't quite link the thoughts. It was like those children's puzzles, when you have to match the triangle to the triangular-shaped hole. Only then would the thought fit. Of course, thought Ben, you always had the kid who nicked a spade from the sandpit and spent the afternoon hammering the triangle into the square-shaped hole. This kid would usually turn out to be the captain of the rugby team.
Interesting theorm, thought Ben. Because I could conduct some tests if I actually get to university. He looked up at the sky in front of him and groaned.
Big monotone shapes were turning and twisting in the sky. Ben recognised the square, the circle, the triangle, and even that wierd star-shaped one that baffled everyone, even the kid with the spade because there wasn't a hole he could hammer it into. Opposite them were huge holes in the sky.
Neb was leering at him, and waving a conductors baton at the shapes. Their rotation was in no way linked to the stabs of the baton, apparently.
"I was just thinking about them." said Ben as Neb opened his mouth. "And, yes, I know you know. So they what - represent my thoughts?"
"Seems the best explanation we can come up with. There's also the possibility that it's part of God's Plan." noted Neb. "You religious?"
"You know I'm not."
"Good thing too. Oh, I didn't, actually. Not my area of responsibility. Anyway, good thing you're not. You know God doesn't exist, right?"
"No."
"Yup, knew you'd say that." Ben threw him a wink, stuck his hands in the by now ragged pockets of his designer suit, and sauntered off in the direction of the cliffs.
Something new clicked in Ben's brain.
"Area of responsibility? So, like Jenny is my imagination."
Neb didn't respond.
"So what the hell are you?"
"Sagittarius. You?"
"You're not answering the question."
"Yeah, probably."
"And where the hell is Jenny?"
Neb didn't answer. He strode away purposefully. The effect was very dramatic, and very definitely spoiled when Ben tried to follow and tripped and disappeared down a hole in the heather.
"Ow."
--
Ben looked up. It was raining. This sort of summed up his day, really. Rain symbolises sorrow, and sorrow symbolises me. Because today I am bloody sorrowful that I'm me. Strange, he mused, I used to like rain. It was so full of life.
But that was a lifetime and a few hours ago.
He opened his eyes. Then he shut them again.
"You're still here then." he muttered.
"Yeah, well, haven't really got anywhere to go. I could go north into the splendidness that is moor, or south into some moor. If I'm feeling adventurous I'll go east into some moor, but I doubt I'll go west, because that way there's moor." said Neb. He was trying to smoke a cigarette, from the smell. And failing, from the sound of it.
Ben sat up. Neb was indeed spluttering over a cigarette. Ben raised an eyebrow at him. Neb held the stare for a moment, then chucked it away with some palitable relief.
"Hey, you thought they look cool. But who am I to argue with myself? Up you get then, we've got a lot of nothing to cover."
"It's sodding freezing." noted Ben. Accurately. Then he grasped Neb's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
"Yeah, well, I'm resilent. Speaking of that, you've got a supreme lack of death-causing crushed organs." quipped Neb.
Ben had to agree with him on this. He was, in fact, not dead. This was a surprising turn of events.
"Ah well. She'd so hoped you wouldn't be dead." said Neb. "Me too, actually."
"Really?" said Ben, with quite a bit of surprise.
"Yeah, surprised me too. Suppose you like living after all. How about that for a turn up for the books?"
Ben raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. His brain was working in overdrive. He had an inkling about what was going on, except he couldn't quite link the thoughts. It was like those children's puzzles, when you have to match the triangle to the triangular-shaped hole. Only then would the thought fit. Of course, thought Ben, you always had the kid who nicked a spade from the sandpit and spent the afternoon hammering the triangle into the square-shaped hole. This kid would usually turn out to be the captain of the rugby team.
Interesting theorm, thought Ben. Because I could conduct some tests if I actually get to university. He looked up at the sky in front of him and groaned.
Big monotone shapes were turning and twisting in the sky. Ben recognised the square, the circle, the triangle, and even that wierd star-shaped one that baffled everyone, even the kid with the spade because there wasn't a hole he could hammer it into. Opposite them were huge holes in the sky.
Neb was leering at him, and waving a conductors baton at the shapes. Their rotation was in no way linked to the stabs of the baton, apparently.
"I was just thinking about them." said Ben as Neb opened his mouth. "And, yes, I know you know. So they what - represent my thoughts?"
"Seems the best explanation we can come up with. There's also the possibility that it's part of God's Plan." noted Neb. "You religious?"
"You know I'm not."
"Good thing too. Oh, I didn't, actually. Not my area of responsibility. Anyway, good thing you're not. You know God doesn't exist, right?"
"No."
"Yup, knew you'd say that." Ben threw him a wink, stuck his hands in the by now ragged pockets of his designer suit, and sauntered off in the direction of the cliffs.
Something new clicked in Ben's brain.
"Area of responsibility? So, like Jenny is my imagination."
Neb didn't respond.
"So what the hell are you?"
"Sagittarius. You?"
"You're not answering the question."
"Yeah, probably."
"And where the hell is Jenny?"
Neb didn't answer. He strode away purposefully. The effect was very dramatic, and very definitely spoiled when Ben tried to follow and tripped and disappeared down a hole in the heather.
"Ow."
--
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