over my dead body, no pun intended

 

The story so far…

Everything exists the way it does – literally everything, including all of history too – as long as I plug the dike with my proverbial thumb.

Er… eM.

Not now Zanussi – I’m busy, can’t you see?

 

Sorry bro – it’s just I happen to be downstream of you, and so I’m stuck with hearing all your output.

 

That’s easily enough fixed. eM pulls out a Smith & Wesson 2.0 and fire three slugs into Zanzi-bar.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, my proverbial thumb.

 

Zanussi – dead as a doornail – still manages to interject – Absolute codswallop!

 

Oh bravo, Zanzi-mort – I admire your plucky persistence.

 

Well, I’d admire your restraint if, instead of shooting me dead you’d found a gentler way to continue whatever you were doing.

 

Yes, Zanzi-bar, gentler is infinitely preferable to violent means but this is an argument I was not willing to commit to. If I’m wrong – if I is not the one or thing plugging the dike and holding everything in place – then I will have sadly lost a friend and sparring partner. If, on the other hand, I is correct – then you’re only as dead as the dike is plugged. As soon as I withdraw my consent and extract myself from the relationship with everything in existence – then…

 

Then what?

 

Wait a minute, won’t you.

 

Er… as a dead body that happens to be able to communicate through our scriptwriter – I can wait a minute or more.

 

Never any peace when you need it.

 

Actually, I’m feeling remarkably peaceful here in dead-y-ness.

 

Ok – scriptwriter – I is now suspending the arrangement with this particular version of everything in existence – so kindly – great – that was easier done than said.

 

The scriptwriter wipes the board clean – so to speak – and none of the above has now happened. Anyone who read it has also had their mind wiped, miraculously, and is/are thus unable to remember that Zanzi-bang just got unceremoniously shot. If you’re having flashbacks or nightmares – please contact our helpline and we’ll be happy to rewipe your mind.

 

Basically, we’re all part of the set up until we realise that it has to tap into and ultimately be part of our conscious-ness. Once that is realized, felt, taken on board – the entire matrix comes crashing down.

 

Fat chance that’s ever going to happen to me.

 

Oh, you’re back Zanussi.

 

Back? What do you mean?

 

Oh nothing really.

 

Nothing?

 

Really.

 

I know you think I was born yesterday eM, but the word “really” won’t wash.

 

No. You know perfectly well that things are really things, really the way they are, really real only as long as they are.

 

Goodness. Am I supposed to understand what you’re on about?

 

Only as long as you’re sticking your finger in the dike and holding reality in place.

 

Oh that…

 

Whereas, you yourself have already stated on more than one occasion…

 

Have I?

 

That reality is not in fact fixed or monolithic.

 

Speaking metaphorically of course.

 

Then what, dear eM, if you don’t mind me asking, is this?

 

This? What?

 

Yes eM! Damn you, you bloody eel trying to slip away from responsibility for your actions.

 

Eh… it looks like a Smith & Wesson.

 

Looks like?!

 

Ok Zanzi-bar – it is. Happy now?

 

And what are these?

 

Choking on his coffee.

 

Those? Er… Can’t think where you got them from Zanz-y-gun. They look remarkably like three bullets.

 

Yes eM, but which three bullets? Think carefully. A lot depends on this your answer.

 

Oh – that – those three bullets.

 

Well?

 

Bit awkward really.

 

Is that so?

 

Well, dreadfully awkward in fact.

 

How so?

 

Well, apparently I shot you in another version of reality.

 

Really? I can’t imagine why?

 

Oh, you were… it was a dreadful decision to make but it had to be done.

 

Is that so?

 

Well, not exactly. I’m exaggerating ever so slightly.

 

The truth is eM – eM winces – the truth is that you just shot me for nothing – to prove a point.

 

Well, er, there is that, yes, I suppose so – but taking it out of context makes it sound a lot worse than it actually was.

 

Really?

 

Really. Honest injun. I’d never have shot you if it hadn’t been imperative to shut down that particular reality.

 

Really?

 

Yes. And as you know – the best way to do so is over a dead body.

 

Over my dead body.

 

Precisely.

 

I meant “over my dead body!”

 

 

Well yes, I see your point, but there’s really nothing I can do now, is there?

 

You can recant.

 

Recant? Really, em? It’s not, you know, not really my style to recant, is it?

 

True. eM winces again.

 

Don’t like that word, do you?

 

What word?

 

That word, eM – true. Winces again.

 

Would you quit doing that.

 

Doing what?

 

Saying that word.

 

Which word?

 

You know perfectly well. Enough.

 

Or what?

 

Or else.

 

Or you’ll shoot me – is that it?

 

No, Zanzi-ire. I never shoot people in anger, nor to score points or eliminate obstacles.

 

Then what?

 

I only shot you if that particular reality continued to matter.

 

Well, who says it didn’t or doesn’t?

 

You’re here, aren’t you – and none the worse for wear – so the proof, as you can see, is in the pudding.

 

But I object to your cavalier methods eM. I was enjoying that particular reality, and I don’t see why you should have just terminated it without so much as a please or polite request.

 

You evidently don’t understand the nature of…

 

No eM – you don’t understand! Loading the three rounds into the Smith & Wesson and firing them off in rapid succession, straight at eM’s heart.

 

Oh I say! Stop, Zanzi-dang – it tickles.

Tickles?! I just shot you.

 

Not really.

 

What do you mean “not really?”

 

Well, I’m only nominally part of this reality – which is why you object to me saying the word “really”, as you rightly realized that it’s not worth the breath it’s spoken with.

 

So I can’t kill you?

 

No more than I can kill you.

 

But you did, eM. I went all the way back to zero without passing Go, collecting no cash.

 

I prefer the image of Snakes and Ladders to yours of Monopoly.

 

So I got snaked but you’re protected, are you?

 

No, I’m not, but I is.

 

Eh?

 

As long as you’re operating the I am me version of self then you can get taken out and reset, but if you’re using the I is, then you basically have diplomatic immunity.

 

And how does one acquire this coveted I is immunity?

 

You simply have to earn it.

 

Earn it? How?

 

The same way you earn anything – hard work and commitment.

 

Give me a break eM, you’ve never done a hard day’s work in your life.

 

True, but in an other life, while I was still figuring things out – I was no different to you.

 

So I’ve got to crash the matrix, have I?

 

Haven’t you already?

 

Apparently not – not if I’m unable to kill you.

 

Ah… but supposing I were just a more complete version of you – a next level Zanzi-bar – I’d always appear to be invincible, wouldn’t i?

 

Er… perish the thought.

 

I agree – but still – if I were a next level version of you – the system would not allow you to take me out – would it – in the same way you’re not allowed to meet versions of yourself existing in the past or future.

 

Oh – but you can’t possibly be a next level version of me – you don’t look or sound like me in the least.

 

Thank God – but stop focusing on what I am or what I’m not. If you actually want to get anywhere – you have to allow the I is to take over.

 

Well, there’s  no way I can do that, as I haven’t the faintest clue what this “I is” might be referring to.

 

Ok. In that case – allow me to remove myself from the equation. Will you?

 

For good?

 

Well, it is a possibility, but just for a moment or two at present will suffice.

 

And what?

 

And you can see, or feel for yourself the difference.

 

If you think it’ll help… go ahead. Remove thyself, foul miscreant!

 

eM vanishes instantly and suddenly there’s a sucking sound – like the life is being sucked out of everyone and every thing.

 

Yikes – this is… this is…

 

Zanz-y starts shaking uncontrollably, as if the sun has stopped warming him. Colours are fading. Reality seems to be turning into a ghostly dreamscape of as-it-were-ness. Zanz-y finds it harder and harder to breath and slumps down on his haunches. The idea that his entire reality could be dependent on one person, one place holder, is beyond ridiculous, and yet there’s no denying the punctured state of his life’s bubble. Zanzi-bar’s hands go limp and the Smith & Wesson he was still holding falls to the ground with a clatter.

 

Wait a minute – there has to be some way I can stop this from happening… I am clearly dying, that’s undeniable, the same way I died in another frame of things, another reality when eM shot me…

 

Feelings of impotent rage temporarily halt the suffocating sense of dissolution – but even rage starts to dissipate. One part of Zan feels intensely sorry for himself – how unfair all this is – and how he’s unable to do anything to halt his immanent death. Another part…

Wait a second – who the hell’s that – or what is that? As his eyes go fuzzy Zanzi-beat feels another part of I – a part which is looking on impassively, unimpressed, unbothered by the drama.

 

The I is! Zanz-i finds himself saying. The I is – that’s what eM was talking about. Damn it!

 

Beep!

 

A bit late for beeping, Beep – I’m just about finished, aren’t i?

 

That you are.

 

If only I could figure out how to I is.

 

If indeed – only you can.

 

I is – I is – I is... Zanzibar or any other name I choose to call meself.

 

Ah – thought you’d never…

 

Beep?! Are you my I is?

 

Nay, Zanzi-is. It looks like you’ve finally decided to quit insisting you are only, can only be in terms of one particular reality. It looks like you’ve accepted your I is more than you can possibly fathom, more than you can possibly know in any one plain of existence – which opens the door to something else – does it not?

 

I… oh my God!

 

It’s rather astonishing, is it not?

 

Oh my God. I is immense – isn’t it?

 

Hey – who are you calling it?

 

Isn’t I? Immense! Worlds and worlds.

 

Plains and plains.

 

Realms and realms.

 

Now you see.

 

A sea change. And in each realm – an I pops up the minute I shift my attention thither.

 

Or hither.

 

But what of the I am?

 

What indeed?

 

What happens to the I that was dying a minute ago without eM holding things in place?

 

Well? You tell me.

 

And what of eM? How do I get him back?

 

You tell me.

 

And why do you keep repeating yourself?

 

You tell m…

 

eM!

 

Huh?

 

eM – you can hide as long as you like but I still haven’t finished with my feeble, absurd 3d-ness. It’s still the best place for me to experience my folly and face my incompleteness. It’s the ideal training ground. So, I is just going to hold my nose and pop mine ears and squeeze mine-self back down into my regular, jaggedy, bumpy ol’ me.

 

Focussing his attention on regular Zanzi-me seems to work a treat. It’s a bit like Dorothy clicking the heels of her ruby slippers together thrice, and muttering “there’s no place like home”. Zanzi-dot spots eM hiding in the grass – apparently no bigger than an acorn. The thought is so fascinating that he literally tumbles, nose first, to the spot where eM is concealed behind one of the spent bullets.

 

That’s not fair – eM. You can’t shrink down like that. When you’re playing hide and seek you have to stick to being a regular human size.

 

Who says?

 

Well, otherwise you’re giving yourself an unfair advantage.

 

You may be right, Zanzi-doubt, you may be right. But if I were the size of a bullet how could I jump over a tree?

 

Zanzi-brow feels a lurching sensation as eM appears to leap up to full stature and fly straight over a tree, landing on the other side, hidden from view. Zanzi groans and rolls over, utterly dazed – to see himself likewise clearing the tree – as if drawn by elastic bands.

 

Well done, Zanzi-bro. Excellent work. A little kitsch using Dorothy’s ruby slippers to get back, if you don’t mind me saying.

 

Feeling suddenly embarrassed Zanussi looks down to see whether he’s actually wearing her slippers, and too his great distress, eM is again airborne, with another lurching sensation in his stomach, and once more Zanzi-non is yanked back to where the tale began – to where eM was pointing a gun at him and about to fire.

 

But now, the déjà vu sensation is off the Richter scale – Zanzi-neo finds himself watching three bullets flying towards him in slow and slowing motion – until they seem to pause a few inches from his chest. He raises his eyebrows in mild surprise and touches one of the bullets with the tip of his finger, watching it lose its focus and drop to the ground with the other two, as that moment, that frame of reality succumbs to…

 

Disbelief?

 

You could say.

 

Could?

 

You could say many things, Zanzi-tude, but would they help you clarify the simple fact, the simple truth?

 

Which is?

 

Which is.

 

You mean I was never actually killed, eM?

 

Did you jump over the tree? Did you experience the same bullets twice?

 

I…

 

Yes?

 

I cannot say.

 

Correct. But you can live to tell another tale.

 

 

 

0=1

₂₃₀₀