The white tiles and the gaudy store fronts began to shudder and shake in front of Peter's eyes. Things danced in the corner of his eye but were gone when he turned to look at them. He tried to calm himself but this only lead to further paranoia. He attempted to act calm and struggled with his mind. He was sweating profusely and his eyes began to water. He shivered in spite of the heat. After a while he realized that he could not win. He stopped struggling and allowed the sensation to take over.
His skin felt like it wanted to leave him to begin its own life. Electric current ran through his body, yet he could not move. He felt alert but at the same time he felt as if he was missing much. His surroundings melted into a constantly changing, all surrounding sea of shades of grey. For the first few minutes he would start every few seconds, realizing that he was staring into space, his jaw slack. That too faded until he was totally gone from this world. He became entrance by the flowing patterns and became one himself. His cigarette burned to ash in his hand until he was gone.
-- --
This was a place of extra dimension. It was layered with situations and emotions and facts. Things happened separately and united, in succession and simultaneously. A kneeling boy. The crack of wood against stone. Electricity to be released. Colours flashed and sounds burst. It was the end of the world and the destruction was carried out by Power. Whatever happened was orchestrated by Him and it was meant to be. People bowed to His will. A car crash, a horribly deformed beast, a firestorm, and the poisoning of drinking water. Women and men begging for mercy at His feet. Power crackled contentedly.
-- --
When he awoke he was surprised to find that he was still sitting in the mall. He felt sluggish, but even that was better than the way he had felt earlier on. He tried to remember exactly what had happened but he could not. He tossed his burnt out cigarette into the ashtray and left.
He got home and realised that there was nothing to do. He was too weary to consider study. Lighting a cigarette, he sat down on the green and red couch and turned on the television. He popped a tape in the VCR and sat back to watch. This was his favourite, and only, video tape. Normally he hated television, but this tape was very different.
-- --
A young woman stood in the center of a small, well lit room. Her hair hung straight to her shoulders, looking greasy and dead. Her dark eyes had a blank expression and her mouth was frozen in a smile which expressed no emotion. She was still. A noise was heard from the next room. She flinched, but did not move. The door opened and into the room walked a small man. He was clothed in a well tailored suit complimented by expensive Italian shoes. His hair was perfect. He smiled as he walked up behind the girl, stroking her hair. She did not move. Her clothes fell to the floor in front of her. The knife that the man was holding flashed as he returned it to a hidden pocket in his jacket. He moved around to the front of the girl, both still smiling, and kicked her in the stomach. She fell to her knees, clutching her stomach, her face unchanged. The man began to disrobe...
-- --
Peter ejected the tape from the VCR. He sipped his tea and relaxed. He found the images on the screen intriguing. The apathy, the brutality. There was a sort of beauty in it. It was like a dance, a play, a costume party. Everyone's role was defined and no one strayed from it. It was gratification and order. It was controlled chaos. He had watched it over and over and he had these ideas, but he still wasn't sure exactly why it captivated him the way it did. He left the apartment after dressing, still thinking of the film, not knowing where he was going.
Peter found himself once again in the donut shop which was just down the street from his apartment. He came here often when he had nothing else to do. After buying his coffee loaded with sugar he sat down and began to pollute himself, yet again, with caffeine and nicotine. He was thinking of this pollution and his thoughts turned to ways to expel some of the poison from himself. He had some paper in his jacket and a pen. With these tools he began to extract the harmful matter from his mind. The words came slowly at first but began to tumble over each other as the gates were opened and the hordes rushed towards the exit. Tears and spittle fell onto the page along with blood when he bit his lip. The ink was smeared by sweaty fingers. In spite of the sogginess of the pages he feared that they might crackle and blacken at times. On and on the words came until finally, after many pages, they stopped suddenly. Peter came out of his trance-like state and stared at the pages. He could not remember what he had written about.
-- --
A young woman stood in the center of a small, well lit room. Her hair hung straight to her shoulders, looking greasy and dead. Her dark eyes had a blank expression and her mouth was frozen in a smile which expressed no emotion. She was still. A noise was heard from the next room. She flinched but did not move. The door opened and into the room walked a small man. He was clothed in a well tailored suit, complimented by expensive Italian shoes. His hair was perfect. He walked up behind the girl, running his hands over her shoulders. She did not move. From a hidden pocket in his jacket he took a large block of dark coloured, greasy mud. He smeared this through her hair and over her face. He made rips in her clothes, all the while rubbing the mud into her skin. Still she smiled...
-- --
That evening Peter was scheduled to attend a party. This was an event he did not relish. To him parties seemed a vice against his temples, pressing until all ration thought was squeezed out and only a numbness remained. However, he felt obligated to attend them so that he might retain some sort of status in society. So he began to prepare his costume and his character. His eyes glittered, his cheeks glowed. After putting the final touches on his appearance he lit a cigarette and sat down. He ran through his repertoire of witty and flattering remarks a couple of times and, reluctantly, embarked upon his journey.
Peter lounged on a couch in the corner of the room looking respectably aloof. He found that he could gain the respect of the party goers quite easily if he acted as if he didn't want to talk to them. He didn't, really, but it was necessary to make them think that this feeling was one of snobbery, not hatred. His skin began to jitter and his eyes unfocussed. The room faded into the background and once again Peter entered his own private world. -- --
This was a place of extra dimension. It was layered with situations and emotions and facts. Things happened separately and united, in succession and simultaneously. A kneeling child. The crack of wood against stone. Electricity to be released. Colours flashed and sounds burst. It was the end of the world and this destruction was carried out by Power. Whatever happened was orchestrated by Him and it was meant to be. People bowed to his will. A car crash, a horribly deformed beast, a firestorm, the poisoning of drinking water. Women and men begging for mercy at His feet. Power crackled contentedly.
-- --
Peter was pulled out of his dream by the noise of the party. Tossing his burnt out cigarette into the ash tray, he walked over to the refreshment table. Standing beside the expensive wine was a beautiful young woman. She was staring at Peter with her dark eyes. He walked over to where she was standing and began to speak his lines. She was easily fooled by his character. They left the party.
During the walk to Peter's apartment, he told her an invented version of his life. It included happiness and success. She seemed very impressed. They arrived at Peter's home and entered. Peter smiled.
-- --
A guard sat at a desk. On the desk were many tiny television screens, each with a different scene playing on it. The guard scanned the screens, finally coming to rest on one. On that screen was a small room, lit brilliantly by huge lights on the ceiling. The room was bare except for a door on the left of the screen and a door on the right. In the middle of the room stood a young woman, staring straight ahead. Her hair was greasy, her eyes were blank and she was shaking. Her mouth was the only part of her which made any effort to pretend that it had life. Her mouth was smiling, but there was no emotion in it. The door on the left opened and a man walked into the room...
Peter smiled.