I’m in a junkyard filled with smashed up cars. The world is set in a deep blue cast. The crushed cars are arranged as a labyrinth — the walls, six high. I am wondering through this maze and a woman, a college crush of mine, is following me. I’m annoyed by her presence. She never cared for me. Why the hell is she following me around? She flirting with me and I want her to stop.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of one of the cars. Do I have a second nose? What’s going on here!?
No, it’s not a nose, it’s some kind of bump or pimple to the left of my nose. And it’s growing. It isn’t painful, but it is hideous. When I squeeze it nothing happens. Every time I see my reflection I shutter. Will this thing ever go away? Or is it new and here to stay? It has now exceeded the size of my nose, and it’s expansion is showing no sign of stopping. Should I cut it off? . . . or learn to like it?
And why . . . why is this girl following me?
I’m in Texas, but this Texas isn’t landlocked. There is a sea that floods in at high tide and renders travel impossible. I’m traveling, trying to find my way to . . . wait!? To Where? Where am I going?
Through hitchhiking I’ve made it to a strange roadhouse. It’s nestled between two short brown dusty mountains, but high up, and I have view that extends 100s of miles into the desert. I don’t have a lot of time here — the tide is coming in, and when it does I will be stuck here for days, maybe weeks. I decide to make a call to my mother. A familiar voice answers the phone, but it isn’t her. I must have dialed the wrong number, but I can’t just hang up — I know this person. I have to figure out who it is without tipping them off that I unintentionally called them. I ramble uncomfortably about nothing for a few minutes. . . .
Got it! It’s Kirsten. I know her, but haven’t spoken with her in years. Shit! Now is not the time to catch up. I need to get out of here — I have to find a way to make this short. She then tells me it’s her birthday and is upset cause no one (other than me) has called her. The tide is coming. I’m stuck. I’m staying. I’m listening. The flooded mountains do look magnificent — but I left my camera in the trunk of the last ride I caught.
It is night. I walking around with my brother Bobby and former housemate Michelle. We are in one of those uncomfortable American hybrid urban/suburban environments. I don’t know how late it is, but there is no one in the streets, and only white vans are parked all around. Michelle asks us to accompany her to a dodgy fast food place a few blocks away. She wants a burger. We agree and follow her. As we approach the yellow glowing “Burger Chase” a nervousness creeps up my spine.
I’m barefoot, and before we enter I see the floors are grimy and wet, as well as one of those “no shirt, no shoes, no service” decals on the door. I hesitate entering at first, but do anyway thinking the employees won’t really give a shit about my feet, and that I will just wash them soon after. When we go in I see to my right a row of booths, each closed in by waist high glass doors and filled with water reaching just above ankle height. People are sloshing around in the water and eating. I find it strange and gross, but try not to stare. The ordering counter runs the full length of the place and red crudely handwritten signs are taped the whole way down. There is a door at the opposite end. As we walk down the counter I read the signs. They say, “Put all of your belongings on the counter. You will be cut by a large knife if you don’t. If you try to escape or look panicked you will be cut”.
I’m pissed. How did we walk into this trap? The people behind the counter are freakishly tall, but don’t necessarily look mean, they almost seem as if they too are following silent orders. A person who was eating in one of the nasty water booths walks out the door I’m standing next too. I step out and motion to my brother to come. He hesitates but my persistent looks get him to leave. I think about Michelle for a moment, but knew that if I tried to get her to come we all would definitely be caught. I console my selfish action saying to myself that I will send help.
Bobby and I are running full speed through the darkness. The lights of a parked white van turn on, and its engine kicks on. We keep running, and don’t seem to be followed. When we get to my parents’ neighborhood Bobby begins knocking on all of the doors and telling them about the place. When no one seems to care, I wake up. ♨
I’m in a foreign town that I am familiar with. There are occasional giant pools of water in the streets, perhaps from flooding. A man I don’t trust is seeking out my advice regarding the town. I offer him a small amount of information and try to exit the situation; but somehow I end up in a room with him and a few others. They want to know things about the underbelly of the town, but I clamp up more and eventually leave.
I’m walking home through the wet, busy streets. It’s taking a long time. The man bikes by, and I hide from his sight. There is word of a school up on a hill that is offering a language class I want to take. I climb the mountainous hill with a female friend (whom I don’t remember), and the “school” comes into sight. It is a massive ark, bigger than I have ever seen before in my life — I can’t even hold a view of the whole thing from one position. It is enclosed in black steel beams and glass; and a vast, complicated network of tubes is how people enter and move throughout it.
I’m in the ship, it looks like someone’s house that I know but I can’t remember who. There are books everywhere, but they’re old and they don’t seem to have the language book I want. I take my leave and start back down the mountain again. This is a long hike home and I do it everyday. I contemplate the ark-school for a while and realize it is so massive and stationed high on the hill in preparation for the flood the that will surely come and wipe us out one day. ♨
I’m in my potential new, big apartment in an old building in Berlin. Someone tells me that the apartment is on the water. I cast a glance out of the window and I can see water. The sun is reflecting on a calm darkblue sea.
There’s a newspaper on the wooden table with a picture of our house in it. Through seeing this picture I realize the house is built on top of an old stone bridge. I look down through another window and realize that there is a muddy shallowly river below. The bridge is massive and broad, it seems to be stable, but I can’t figure where the water of the river can actually go through it. I know that there will be floods sometimes if we move into this apartment.
I’m talking to my future flatmate and he has a surprisingly deep voice. He then turns out to be another man.