Somewhere in a tiny forgotten town too close to the Arctic Circle to be considered habitable or even possible a deformed teenaged boy wanders about under the surreal hum and glow of the midnight sun. He is looking for something or someone that he knows he can never find but he also knows, at moments so intimately alternate that they all too easily become virtually concurrent, that he also can never stop looking. He will look always and yet always know that he cannot find whatever or whoever it is that he is seeking. He is American and he is lost. Endlessly and hopelessly he searches while those about him, the few that remain in this comatose town, look on with not even a little wonder or wander remaining to them.
Much farther south there was an enormous and ancient oak tree that stood desolate and alone in the middle of an endless cornfield. The corn was past time for harvest and remained tall and foreboding. A small child, a tomboy around the age of nine, got lost within that immense field of tall plants and was soon separated from her mother by a distance greater than the distance a yell or shout or cry could cover in such conditions. Terrified, the young girl eventually found the strong old oak and felt a brief wave of comfort as she rested beneath its shade for only a moment before climbing up high into its long and strong limbs. She went as high as she could, much higher than any other child her age might dare. She went with her eyes mostly closed, not due to a fear of heights but rather one of open spaces like those that now completely surrounded her for as far as her eyes might see. Forcing herself to look she opened her eyes to search at length and also in vain for her mother or father or anyone who would be looking for her. In time she grew tired and the day grew dark and while she tried to stay awake she could not. With tears in her eyes she succumbed to the sleep which overtook her. Sometime late into the dark and chilling night she slipped from her perch and fell far down to the ground. They never found her. The field and the tree are gone now and replaced by something else not cornfield and not oak tree in nature. The small and lively tomboy was never replaced but also never forgotten by those who loved her dearly.
These things I see and these things I know. Things that cannot be seen and cannot be known. Still they rush upon me in small but shocking bursts and I wonder, why me?
As the car careened around the corner the woman was oblivious to the sirens screaming in chase. She knew only that she must not be caught before the time was right. To keep alive the chase she managed to avoid several serious collisions though she did impact several parked cars along the winding route which had been planned in advance; the route that THEY had planned in advance. Even when she hit the elderly man with the walker she continued to clench the wheel with both hands, driving wildly onward, her knuckles white and protruding, her eyes intent and red with angry fear, her mind set on one goal only- finishing the job. Just moments later she missed a turn and in her attempt to bring the speeding car around she brought it up on to two wheels and then it slammed into the side of a gas truck and they both erupted in flame. Luckily no one was in the truck and, amazingly, the woman managed to crawl from the blaze only to be taken into custody. She screamed out in some language that no one seemed to understand and, while being held by two officers and watched by a small crowd of bystanders she too suddenly burst into flames and was consumed, along with the two unfortunate officers who each held on to one of her arms. The story was that same evening all over the news but no one could offer even a guess at what had happened. Across town a young and ambitious man turned off the television and sat down to drink a warm glass of murky water. His frown turned just briefly into a wry smile as he realized that he knew what the others did not. His thought of the woman lasted as briefly as the smile.
Why me? Why now?
The visions came faster still over less and less time.
In Washington a man was on the phone talking with the manager of a club that he owned, or rather co-owned, down near the border in Texas. The manager was concerned because the club was already packed, at or darn near at full capacity, and there were still more waiting to get in. The outside crowd was still growing in size and also growing in impatience and the entire situation was what was causing the manager such understandable concern. He asked the owner, or rather co-owner, whether he should lock the doors and call in the authorities. The owner, or rather co-owner, responded by telling the manager that closing and locking the doors would cause anger not only with the outside crowd but also with those on the inside who wished to leave. When the manager countered that no one inside seemed to want to leave- the band, the food, the drink, the atmosphere all were top-notch- the owner, or rather co-owner, suddenly got angry and ordered the man to throw open the doors and let in anyone from the outside who wished to go inside. The manager raised the question of whether or not those outside would be expected to pay the cover charge that those inside had already paid to gain entry; he expressed additional concern that they might not even be paying customers but would simply take up space with nothing given in return to benefit the club, its employees, and even its owners; he emphasized that by letting in the outside crowd they would quickly and easily violate the occupancy limits imposed by the local codes; he brought up the fact that the sheer number of patrons could not be supported by the supplies of food and beverages on hand, the seating available, the working service staff, the restrooms, and even the air conditioning and ventilations systems. All of these he calmly and wisely reviewed with the owner, or rather co-owner, but to no avail. He was told to throw open the doors and let the crowd come in.
What happened after the manger complied is not clear to me in this vision but I can only guess at what the outcome might have been- or will be. You see, I have no way of knowing if these sights are from the past, the future, or even happening at the time that I experience them. Hell, I don’t really even know if they are real at all but they sure feel like they are.
I see palm trees and many tanned and happy, shapely people. It must be Florida or, yes, California. It is a gorgeous day as usual but the vision shifts swiftly from the warm and sunny outdoors to the inside of what appears to be a hospital emergency room and the scene there is anything but happy. It is madness; it is chaos. There are far too many people and it seems that almost no one is receiving any medical attention at all. There seems to be a clerk asking for verification of some sort- I think it might be for insurance- and a uniformed man checking identifications. Some patients begin to be taken through an admitting doorway while others are held back; at first with words and later on with force. There is yelling and screaming- seems to be in both English and Spanish- as general chaos takes over. As the vision fades it does not fully disappear before I briefly see a line of elderly patients outside, some on benches, some on broken gurneys, and some simply on the ground. I vaguely hear sobbing and crying and other sounds I cannot describe but ones that fill me with such deep and clinging sorrow before and then after the scene falls fast away.
I do not wish to see anymore but I cannot escape. No one could escape.
On what appears to be a Muslim television station there is a gruesome show, it looks to be a game show. I cannot understand what is being said but there is shot after shot of what appears to be two contestants who walk off paces toward one another and then, suddenly after some instruction, one or both then just blow up. For lack of a better description it seems that it is a modern-day duel between terrorists but for the life of me I cannot see or understand how a winner is chosen.
There are riots, on the street, in and out of buildings. It looks as if there are white and black people both fighting and rioting and looting and attacking and subduing the police, or maybe it is the military, and setting fires and attacking others in cars and chasing down others on foot. There are sticks and knives and guns. There are boards and pipes and even machetes. I see many neighborhoods, different languages displayed on store and street signs; I see people yelling and screaming in anger and terror but I hear no sounds; there are no sounds. I have never before seen such violence, either in intensity or scope, and I close my aching eyes in an attempt to make it all go away but on it goes. On an on and on.
Throughout the night and day beyond the visions come and stay and then go. I am torn from the inside and completely unable to run away from all that I see.
And in the end, before I finally succumb to the exhaustion brought on by so many days and nights of sleeplessness I see a final vision. It is a king and he is stepping toward a podium to speak…