Sideways, Into Eternity

The forest glowed a vibrant green, the rich scent of animals and wood and decay and sunshine mingling beautifully. Scott walked beneath the boughs that reached far above, listening to the sounds of the birds. Dappled sunlight broke through the canopy, laying shifting patterns on the leaf litter underfoot. A deer ahead heard Scott approach and darted away, dancing from step to step, a spring uncoiling.

The sound of laughter and merriment gradually rose above the ambient noise of the forest, coming from a small campsite of men in earthy greens and browns. They welcomed Scott warmly, with wide arms and open smiles. He joined them a while, drinking and carousing, before whispering something to their leader and taking his leave. Once out of sight, he found a shadow and slipped into it, into the in-between places. Stepped sideways, into eternity.

Eternity swallowed him as an old friend, its cool embrace familiar and comforting, his step stretching out longer and longer. After a moment, an hour, a minute, Scott stepped out into the light rain, a gentle drizzle that slowly worked its way down the back of his neck and shoes. The city was grey and dismal, dark clouds hanging low and brooding over intermittent spires and flat roof slats. He stepped under an overhanging eave and covered his nose to block out the smells that ran down the street like rivers, the fetid stench of unwashed bodies pressed too close together and human waste. Lightning crackled in the clustered clouds, forks of light spearing the sky for far too brief a time. This was no place for him. Scott found an open doorway and stepped inside. Stepped sideways, into eternity.

People milled around each other, smiling and laughing and hugging, all the while speaking in a language he didn’t understand. Eternity had placed him in the middle of them, next to a graffiti-covered wall that people sat, stood, sang and juggled atop. He was jostled relentlessly as he attempted to make his way out of the crowd, or perhaps he jostled the others. Their joy was infectious, and he found himself grinning when men and women embraced him, rather than pushing them away. Finally he broke free from the main press of the mob, leaning on a brick building to regain his breath. The crowd was an incredible sight, thousands of people celebrating… something. Scott couldn’t make out the object of their rejoicing. The sky was a clear, pure blue, radiating a clarity that only weeks of rain can bring, as if the heavens themselves are glad to be open again. A smile lingering on his face, Scott found a fold in the world and slipped into it. Stepped sideways, into eternity.

He regretted the deal. He knew something was wrong at the time, but had been too excited to care. The man had been so nice, his too-white coat matching his too-white teeth. The prospect of being able to slip out of time, through time, between time, landing anywhere and anywhen... how could he refuse? But he was tired now. He just wanted to go home, to find himself before he made the deal and stop it from happening. He'd been slipping for years now and he feared just what it was that he was slipping towards.

He stumbled over the uneven ground--no, not uneven, swaying. The view over the edge of the boat was limited by a heavy fog that pressed down on all sides. Despite it, there were people mingling on the deck: clearly passengers, not a deckhand in sight. He grimaced. He knew how this one ended.

There was a band playing, elevated on a small stage, the music swallowed by the mist. He pulled his coat closer around his body, futilely attempting to shield himself from the cold. He stepped backward, into the shadow. Stepped sideways, across the deck.

He frowned. Stepped sideways, into the railing at the edge of the boat, the sliver of eternity slipping infuriatingly away.

Speed, that's what I need. He thought, gripping the railing.

A shudder rocked the boat and would have knocked him from his feet had he not already been holding on. The sharp keening of shredding metal filled the air, drowning out the cries of the passengers.

Now or never.

He vaulted over the rail, the water looking impossibly far away, only just visible through the fog. As he fell, he tried to tried to slip between the world, but something was wrong, very wrong. Eternity was there, just in front of him, just out of reach. He knew that if he could just get a bit more speed he could make it.

The water hurtled toward him, no longer so far away, but still eternity eluded him. He stretched his hand out and managed to hook a finger through. He pulled hard, trying to heave himself forward but the water was too close now and he struck it hard with only half a hand through. The pain wrapped around him, shielding him from the cold, forcing his breath out in an explosion of bubbles. Weakly, he registered that he still had a hold between time and let himself slip down, sideways, into eternity.

He opened his eyes, unsure if he had made it or not. He was lying on a bed in a white-walled room, there were electronic displays around him and an incessant beep-beep that was gradually speeding up. He knew this place. He did not want to be here.

A woman walked in, wearing a too-white coat and a too-white smile. He tried to move, to roll over, to escape, but his limbs were sluggish and unresponsive. The woman held down his arm and inserted a needle, shooting something into his veins.

Gradually, his panic subsided. The beeping slowed once more and, under the woman's watchful gaze, he felt himself slipping.

Slipping sideways, into eternity.

Ready to Fall

     The wind tousled his hair, gently nudging him from side to side. His hair occasionally blew in front of his eyes but he barely noticed, seeing only the inside of his eyelids. The afternoon sun was warm on his back. He had been standing in place for several minutes and no one had yet noticed him, or if some had they made no comment. He knew what he would see if he opened his eyes: the city laid out before him, streets weaving jaggedly around each other, towers of glass reflecting the light much like the one he stood atop now. The metal beneath his feet felt as solid as any footpath he had walked but he knew that a step forward or back would land only on air. He did not step forward. He did not step back.
     He knew that he stood there for a reason but with the rest of his life so far below it was easy to forget, to stand still and simply exist. The wind was not as strong as he had expected it to be, this high up. Keeping his footing had been decidedly easy. The smell of smoke drifted up to him, exhaust and cigarettes and woodfire, acrid and pungent and undeniably earthy but below all of them lay something fresher, the barest hint of something that can only be felt where no one has yet settled.
     A car backfired somewhere far below and he opened his eyes slowly, as if waking from a dream. The sun was low enough to set the city alight with hues of orange and red. He breathed deeply, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. It shouldn't be long now. The people far below carried on their everyday lives, the workaholics just now heading home while those keen for a drink arrived. The handover of the city had begun, from work to play.
     The eighth storey of the building across from him exploded with a kra-KOOM, hurling glass and metal outward over the city. Grey dust and smoke mixed with an orange gas that leaked from the ruined level. The entire building groaned and began to tilt as similar explosions rocked the glass towers around it until finally he felt the building that he stood on rumble, its fifth and sixth floors blown to bits. He smiled grimly. He had been told that he would know his cue when it came.
     Closing his eyes once more, feeling the dying sun warm his back, he took a step forward into the air.

Inspired by the song Ready to Fall - Rise Against.

Ribbons of Sound

I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of old popcorn and public carpet. Colours flicked through my head, the general thrum of the crowd mixing into an indistinguishable dark palette of browns and greys with the occasional flare of emerald or sky blue as a child cried out or a woman laughed aloud. I turned up my iPod, blasting Rise Against and letting the flashing ribbons of crimson and magenta wash through me, the chorus occasionally dropping into violet—no, lavender. Dully, I noticed a voice calling my name in a dirty yellow, the colour of a highlighter accidentally dragged through a black line, never to be pure again.

“You’re so antisocial.” Mark collapsed into the seat next to me, slouching in the deep cushions as he offered me a chip, his meticulously spiked blonde hair standing at all sorts of ridiculous angles. I waved away the bag, wrinkling my nose at the smell of vinegar and putting away my music.

“Well it’s hard to be social when your friends are fifteen minutes late.” I rebuked, smiling despite my reproachful tone. “Late to an event that you organised, might I add?”

“Prefer it if you didn’t, to be honest. Any idea when Geoff’ll get here?” Mark munched on his God-awful salt and vinegar chips, seemingly oblivious to my disgust. I could practically taste the acidity in the back of my throat.

I shook my head. “I texted him a few minutes ago.”

“Bloody Geoff. Never answers a text.” Mark finished his chips and crumpled up the packet in a crimson crinkle, lobbing it into the nearest trash bin just as Geoff waltzed around the corner. “Speak of the devil…”

“And the devil doth appear,” Geoff finished as he approached, throwing his long arms out in a grandiose gesture that almost toppled a small child. He apologised quickly to the child and her mother before turning back to tower over the two of us.  “How are you guys? Talking about me again?”

“As always.” I stood and began walking towards the bored-looking candy bar employee, still dwarfed by Geoff’s height despite no longer sitting down. “Just the thought of you makes me swoon.”

“What can I say? I just exude raw masculinity. Honestly, I’m surprised you can hold yourself back.”

“It’s a constant struggle, I assure you.” We both laughed. It’s a conversation we’ve had many times before.

“Are you guys going to buy a ticket, or are you just going to hope Geoff’s manliness brings one forth from the void? C’mon guys, only I can do that.” Mark held up a ticket of his own.

I stepped behind a short, balding man—the extent of the midday queue. The light shining off of his smooth crown was quite distracting. “When the hell did you even get that?”

“Just then. The void. Sorry, were you not listening just now?” Mark waved the ticket in my face until I hit his arm with a grin.

“You’re so annoying.”

The balding man moved from the counter and I stepped away from the others to buy a ticket. The cashier had a nice voice: a buttery sort of yellow, much more appealing than Mark’s dirty fluoro. I thanked her and went back to the boys. Mark had somehow managed to get Geoff in a headlock, despite a six-inch height disadvantage. Geoff took the distraction of my return as an opportunity to reach up and muss Mark’s hair. Mark immediately released the headlock and put his hands to his head, an expression of utter horror on his face and a cyan shriek escaping his lips. I let out a wild laugh at the sheer perfection of his equally distraught and furious expression, earning a dirty glare.

“I worked for like an hour on this.” Mark’s voice dripped with venom, sinking from yellow to dark jade.

“Oh come on, it looks exactly the same as before.” Geoff punched his shoulder gently and we started to walk to the movie theatre. “You’ve got enough staying power in your locks to stop a landslide. Actually, I think I might’ve cut myself on one of those points…”

While Geoff made a show of inspecting his fingertips, I nudged Mark. “Are you going to get yours?”

“Way ahead of you.” He brandished a piece of paper, giving it to the ticket-ripper-person. What are they even called? I pondered. “Geoff taught me the whole ‘summoning from the void’ thing.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Mark nodded enthusiastically.  “It’s easier than you’d think. Oh!” He raised a hand suddenly. “You guys’ll never guess what I found out today.”

“You’re actually a woman?” Geoff looked up from his inspection, seemingly satisfied that Mark’s hair had not drawn blood.

“Everyone has a skeleton inside them?” I chip in.

“Dumbledore dies?”

“Dude, spoilers.” Mark shook his head disapprovingly at Geoff. “No, I was watching YouTube videos—”

“See, we should’ve been able to guess that.” I said to Geoff as we walked into Cinema 4.

Mark glared at me again. “As I was saying, I was watching videos, and I found this thing called synaesthesia. You guys heard of it?”

Geoff and I shook our heads. The cinema was almost empty, the only other occupants an elderly couple sitting up the front. I caught a few purple words from the man before Mark continued.

“Some people have this mental thing where, like, one sense is linked to another. Wait no, that’s not quite right. Give me a sec.” He held up a hand, concentrating on his phone. I exchanged a grin with Geoff as we went to the far back row of chairs and filed in, sinking into the poorly padded, blushing red chairs and resting our feet on the row in front. I sat in the exact middle seat, with Mark on my left and Geoff on my right.

“Okay, I got it.” Mark continued, reading off his phone. “It’s where ‘the stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway’.”

Geoff and I looked at him blankly for a few seconds. “English, please?” I asked.

“It’s like there’s a few wires crossed. Like, when they hear sounds, they see colours too.”

I looked from Mark to Geoff and back again, waiting for the rest of the story. “And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’?” Mark exclaimed. “You don’t think that’s awesome?”

I frowned, confused at his enthusiasm, now mirrored in Geoff’s face. “Not… really, no.” I looked at the two of them again, an uncomfortable flitting sensation forming in my stomach. “How is that weird? It’s just normal.”

“No…” Geoff slowly shook his head. “No, it’s really not.”

“Yes, yes it is.” I insisted, starting to get a bit annoyed. The flitting upgraded to churning, my intestines turning over themselves. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry, like I’d had a mouthful of cinnamon.

Mark gently laid a hand on my arm, as you would a small animal that you were worried might bolt. “Does this happen to you? Do you… see sounds?”

My head moved back and forth between the two of them, the puck in a game of air hockey. “You guys don’t?”

Mark barked a laugh; a short, sharp green sound that drew disapproving looks from the couple down the front. “Honestly?”

“You’re messing with me, right?” I punched him gently even while a fist of apprehension clenched tightly around my stomach and lungs, making me feel lightheaded and faintly nauseous. “No way can you be serious. You’re in on this too?” I asked, punching Geoff harder than I had Mark.

“No way can you be serious.” Geoff rubbed his arm, his look of incredulity so perfectly matching Mark’s that I could almost believe they were telling the truth.

Mark’s voice pierced the silence after a few seconds, excitement tingeing his voice apricot. “What colour are you seeing now?”

“No.” I hit him again, harder than I had Geoff, anger and disbelief making me misjudge the power of the blow. “No, we’re not doing this.” I sat back and looked pointedly at the blank screen, all too aware of the fuchsia pink music drifting gently from the speakers lining the walls. My palms were sweating and my chest felt heavy. It was a mistake to sit between these two.

“What colour is the music?” Mark pressed, as if reading my mind. I said nothing, my face as blank and composed as the screen while my guts competed to see how fast they could tie an assortment of unnecessarily complicated knots.

“What about my voice?” Geoff asked from my right. “I’ll bet it’s… crimson. Or gold.”

Silver, I thought to myself.

“Wait, seriously?” Geoff goggled.

“Did I say that out loud?” I groaned when Mark positively beamed at me.

“You have no idea how cool that is.” He bounced up and down in his seat. “Do you see them all the time? What colour is my voice? Does it work for all sounds?”

“Mark, stop.” I held up a hand. “Can we deal with this later? I just… need some time.” As if on cue, the lights went down and the first of the ads came on.

He nodded vigorously. I could practically see the questions lining up behind his eyes. I sighed, settling into my seat. The thought of not seeing a sound’s colour… No, I can’t imagine it. It doesn’t make sense. They’re just too connected. I tried to listen to the music of the advertisement on the screen without seeing the colours, but they flashed unbidden into my mind. It’s not possible. I can’t even think it. It’s like trying to hear without sound.

The more I thought about it, the more questions came to mind. How would you decide if you like a song? An instrument? How dull everything must be.

I sank lower into the chair, the screen only barely visible over my knees. The lights dimmed entirely and a wild green forest faded into being on screen. The soundtrack began, deep, vibrant red violins, soon joined by paler flutes in soft blues. How could others not see this?

    Colours flashed from the screen and the speakers, surrounding me and sheltering me in a cocoon of sensation, ribbons of sound running across my mind. I felt the warmth of the two boys on either side of me and smiled. If this is my gift, my uniqueness, well… I think I can live with that. 


A thing I wrote a while ago for uni about synaethesia. I like it.