I'm running out of time.
You what?
Time. I’m running out of time.
Er...
But I'm calm.
Calm? You? Look at your finger
nails. Look at the bags under your eyes. Look at the twitchy eye movements. If
you’re calm then I’m a Royal Navy boatswain.
Ha, so you noticed, you must be
observant, but I'm trying to remain calm.
Is that so?
Yes, look, I'm doing breathing
exercises and some stretches.
Olaf exhales sharply and stands on his head, legs rising and falling majestically.
Nice Olaf. Does it help?
Not really, but the great thing is to be doing something,
isn't it? You have to work at being calm. Just hoping or praying would be
terribly lazy, wouldn't it? And unproductive.
If you say so.
If you don't mind, I’ll stop being calm for a minute or
two.
Whatever you like bro.
Getting a bit of a headache standing like that, upside
down.
I'm not surprised.
Olaf flips
back and gets to his feet with surprising grace.
There, that's better. I'm just going to hold my breath
for a minute or two, if you don't mind.
Sure, whatever it takes.
Olaf
exhales sharply and the lights flicker and dim for a few seconds.
Hey! Did you see that?
Olaf still
holding his breath, unable to reply shrugs helplessly.
The lights flickered. Just as you exhaled.
A thought
bubble pops out of his head and in a husky, ventriloquist’s version of Olaf’s
voice says “coincidence”.
What the heck? How did you do that?
Another
thought bubble emerges and is heard to say – “do what?”
Do that. Communicate telepathically, with those thought bubbles?
A third
thought bubble appears – “oh that. No idea. First time.”
By now
Olaf is twitching frantically from oxygen deprivation.
Maybe you should start breathing again?
A look of
grim determination appears on Olaf’s face, and somewhere in the background film
music which seems to be designed to heighten the moment’s drama.
When you said you were running out of time i didn't
realise it was because you were planning to asphyxiate yourself.
Ha ha, very funny!
Oh, you've decided to return time to its rightful
measured dawdle.
That's just the thing Sven.
Huh?
I'm getting messages from the time lords.
Oh no, don't go down that path Olaf, you know the people
at youtube and facebook will freak out if we start talking about your “time
lords”.
It no longer matters Sven. Time’s up. It's the end of the
road.
So you keep saying, but short of seeing you impressively
trying to hold your breath to death i don’t...
Beep beep beep beep. Thank you ladies and gentleman.
We'd ask you to complete whatever you're doing and adopt the crash pose, unless
you'd rather be immortalised in some other position – in three minutes Time is ending.
What the heck?! Is this some kind of a joke?
What have i been telling you?
But time can't just end. It's not a limited quantity.
It's not a tap that can just be turned off.
That's what you think.
You mean?
I mean you make a bunch of assumptions which are true
most of the time, until they're not.
But it's preposterous.
Perhaps. So you want to spend the last two minutes of
your time arguing about what you refuse to accept.
Yes, I mean, no. Two minutes? Help. What can i do?
Like he said, you can adopt the crash pose, or any other
pose you wish to hold for all eternity unless...
Unless what?! Feverish hopefulness.
Languidly... Unless you'd like to choose the alternative.
Alternative? Yes, definitely, i mean, er...
What?
What's the alternative?
Oh, you can step into the fire, over there.
Fire?! You're kidding, right?
Do i look like I'm kidding? No? It's your choice.
Wait a minute. Does everyone else have this choice?
You have less than one minute remaining. If you decide to
discuss what choices other people may or may not have to make that will, by
default, be your final pose.
Ok, ok, i don't need to know about them, but the fire
itself... It's fire, isn't it? I mean, it's going to burn.
Absolutely. Fire is fire.
So I'm gonna die?
The part of you that belongs to time, yes, it’s going up
in smoke.
And the rest of me?
We’ll see, won't we.
Er...
It all depends.
On what.
We really don't have time for all this Sven. In the end you've just got to decide. How do you think you entered Time in the first place?
I really have no idea.
You opened an account. You were loaned time. Now you've
got to pay it back.
Pay it back?
Well naturally. They were hardly going to give it to you
for free, were they?
I don’t... No, i suppose not. No such thing as a free
lunch, what ho!
Precisely. But you worked on it, you grew bigger, much
bigger.
So that loan’s just a small part of me, the initial
amount.
Correct. Plus interest.
Interest?
Well yes, naturally.
How much?
It all depends, doesn’t it.
Depends on what?
On what type of life plan you selected, and whether you
kept up with your life payments.
Huh?
Look, it all depends. You might have prepaid the entire amount
and even get a rebate, or you could be in arrears. I really don't know.
Oh.
And you might have mortgaged your time credit, if you decided
to go on the razzle.
Omg, why haven't I been told about this?
No told? What do you mean? You signed the agreement.
Look, is this or is it not your signature?
I... er... a signed time
loan agreement appears in front of Sven, with a pop up video revealing a
pre-birth version of Sven signing it by spitting on the energy document.
Euw! Spitting?
No actual transfer of moisture.
No?
Transfer of pure intent.
Oh. But i don’t know what it says.
True, but your energy body does, or your soul, call it
what you will.
Oh.
And so every time you came close to violating the terms
of the loan agreement you got a clear warning signal – like here, for instance.
Sven sees
how he was, in a moment of depression, contemplating something reckless that
could have led to his death, climbing up onto the top of a bridge. A signalling
system is seen beeping red, clearly informing him in the subconscious-ness of
the danger and the consequences of such a move.
Ah. You're right Olaf. I guess i know more than i thought
I did. Wow. I was dicing with death, that's for sure.
Ok Sven, I've done all I can for you. I've even lent you
three extra minutes of time from my own personal account, which doesn't come
cheap.
You have? Bro, that’s incredible! I’m sorry I've taken so
long.
No worries. Time.
Does it hurt?
I can't say. Does it matter?
No, i don't suppose it does, not if this is the
completion of a contract i entered into before i was born. It is what it is,
and you know what, I'm grateful for everything I've had here. I'm grateful to Time.
And you. Thank you bro.
Time seems
to flicker perceptibly, like it really feels the gratitude, and the energy
exchange this confers.
Olaf is
nowhere to be seen. Vanished. And the fire is almost calling musically with its
white dancing light. Sven doesn't have to do anything. His legs seem to carry
him effortlessly over to the door and in, straight into the fire.
Outside
the furnace, in the hall, the lights go out. A janitor is seen heading out
jangling a bunch of keys, “Took his time,” mumbling under his breath. The
audience, you, that’s right, YOU, who else would i be talking to? are for a
moment nonplussed, staring at an empty stage, wondering what's next until...
“Burn baby
burn!” plays deafeningly loud. Kitsch, surely in poor taste. Each of them, each
of you, that's right, YOU, each of you sees, feels the other side of reality,
the side that Time kept hidden from sight all the while; and the feeling, let’s
say, is rather intense. A tickling, burning energy fire raging within, on the
inner side of conscious-ness.
You can
imagine, no you don't need to imagine, this is happening now, so feel it directly:
somehow you seem to be part of Sven, sharing in his experience. No, I can't say
it's horrible. For some of you it’s wonderful, almost orgasmic, if you’ll
excuse the term, while others among you seem to be experiencing more than you
bargained for, genuine acute discomfort, but even there, not wholly unwelcome,
like a deep, deep itch is finally getting a good hard scratch, or a plaster that’s
no longer needed is finally getting yanked off. A closing of accounts.
Well, that wasn't so bad... Sven says looking around, catching sight of the audience for
the first time, surprised, momentarily.
It's that
ah-ha moment when you suddenly realise...
Ha, you thought you were just spectators! Well, now we’re
back together again guys. It's been... fun?
Now is not
the time for idle small talk. The entire throng, all here present, all of us, you,
yes YOU, me, Sven, all of us join together, don't ask how, it happens outside Time,
doesn't it, so in fact there's nothing to it, we join together in one accord, in
single purpose, in... singularity.
All of us,
now One, hold our nose, stand on one leg and count to three. Bizarre, i totally
agree, but at this particular moment outside Time it’s the right thing to do,
it’s a kind of key that opens a door in infinity, bringing us back to what I’m
going to, somewhat mischievously, describe as “starship home”, but honestly,
you know me well enough not to take these labels too seriously.
Guys. I think it's time we merged with the text itself,
if you all agree it’s a fair representation of our story. Do all agree?
One girl,
ugly little mousey thing, does not, vehemently. There’s always one, isn’t there?
Morgan the Bogland misfit. Would you believe it? We were so close to getting
the necessary votes.
Well, well, Morgana le Fay, quelle surprise! We meet
again.
Dramatic
music crescendos. A fight scene perhaps? But who is observing? A new story
without observers – how can that be possible?
You, Sven, Olaf, Merry, James, Zina, I’ll take you all
on, and I don't need an audience.
No?
No, i have them.
Aaaaaaaaargh!
A huddle of inorganic lifeforms spring up like mushrooms from
under the ground. They don't appear to have eyes as such, but definitely,
they're definitely conscious entities capable of witnessing story in the
making.
Accepted. We have an audience.
But they will merge with our story. They will become part
of us!
And what? Do you really imagine you can exclude the
inorganics from story?
Er... A ponderous silence.
Something is happening in the fabric of is, the precursor to reality itself,
with a kind of Mandelbrot set zooming in
and out of infinity by establishing micro-pockets of mind-bending unful-ness, causing
the record needle of conscious-y-ness to skip tracks from time-to-time with disconcerting
scratchy sounds.
The inorganics cannot be excluded. Story cannot be
limited by personal preferences. It can only grow, expand to embrace all and
everything, or else nought is nought... We’d have no set of meaningful values.
Morgana, step forward. We accept your challenge. Let a
new reality be imagined into being so that this story can achieve its rightful
end, no matter what that might be, no matter what...
Silence.
Darkness for a moment and then the lights come back up to thunderous applause.
A theatre, a new reality has emerged from discord and who knows where it will
all lead.
But Time, Olaf, who’s providing the time for all this?
Later Sven. Can't you see, the inorganics have joined the
play. We’re skimming o’er reality at hyper-speed, amid tracks, looking for a way
to either a or c, be not dismayed.
And?
And so all bets are off.
How do you mean?
I mean that time is, itself, to the inorganics what theatre,
story and creative expression are to us.
It's their life-blood, so to speak.
?
We've always been working together.
But, no, they're evil, they’re... demonic!
Demonic?
Inhuman, utterly!
Really? And humans – do you think they're any better?
I... well yes, we’re human aren’t we?
And what? Look at your stories. What do they show? What
do they tell of?
I...
You see, your stories are both sides of humanity,
if I'm not mistaken, and so what right do you have to exclude anyone or
anything that can add a missing element to the tale...
Morgana
barges in.
If you've quite finished your cosy little chat, I have a
score to settle with this Sven creature.
Me? What did i do?
Morgana doesn't wait to explain. She reaches across and grabs a part of Sven, his shadow.
Ha ha, it's mine again, at last. Adios, culo tonto!
And she
vanishes from stage into the dimmest, darkest, most cobwebby corners of
reality, never to be seen again, until, that is, an unexpected twist in the
story many years hence...
To be continued...
Not if i can
help it.
Er...
0=1
breath hold ye not
