The Purple Fireball
The scene is a seemingly endless plain, so flat and so wide there appears to be no edge to the landscape, save for where earth meets sky. In fact from here, one can easily make out the curvature of the planet itself. The time of day may appear to be dusk, just before darkness; there's not a cloud anywhere, and the hue of the heavens is a deep, yet almost iridescent, dark blue. Here, in this place, it is always and ever, exactly like this. There is no night; there is no brighter daylight. For this is the dream-world that supports, divides and yet stems from, all others.
Two men are standing upon this plain, discussing their lives. Both are actually from elsewhere, but this place is where each man's subconscious has brought him. One actually lies asleep in his bed at home; the other is thousands of miles distant from the first, at his work, enveloped in a daydream.
“Hmp,” said one, “Wonder what this place is. You ever been here before?”
“Yah, couple times. That's because I'm older than you are.”
“Really? What does age have to do with it? What is this place?”
“This is where you come to re-examine your life, and to review what you've done. Your failures, your accomplishments. Here, you can even make plans to correct your path, if you know how.”
“Does it have a name?
“Does what have a name?”
“This place!”
“Are you kiddin'? You're dreaming, you know that, right?”
“Well, yeah...but it really does appear to be a physical place...”
“Physical, shmysical. It's a place. So, what do you think of your life, so far?”
“Aw, not bad. I have a great family. The ol' lady isn't happy. But that's pretty much par, isn't it?”
“Depends on the person. That's their function, see? If they're happy, they figure you'll slack. Some women can handle a lot of that, but with others there's no room for error at all. Still others are gonna up-dump and leave you no matter what you try to do for 'em.”
“Hmp. Wonder if I should worry about that.”
“Depends on the person.”
All of a sudden, the landscape begins to change, illuminated with a flickering, gradually brightening, bluish-silver light.
“Hmp?”
Crackle-pop-Whoooshh!
“What the hell??”
A huge, comet-like object hurtles overhead, trailing red and purple flames. The core of the object appears to be brighter than the rounded, seething, brilliant blue of the fireball that encircles it, as if it is molten within. But this is obviously no ordinary comet, or meteor, because it isn't coming down. Instead, it proceeds on a more-or-less straight path, more-or-less remaining parallel to the surface. Silver sparks fly from all sides of it, adding to the stunning effect. It passes overhead so closely that one of the sparks finds its way behind the collar of the exclaiming observer. Immediately he begins hopping up and down, digging with a hand at the back of his neck.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“Ha ha ha. First time I ever saw that happen. So much for non-physical, eh?”
“Eh? What're you, Canadian? It's not funny, man! That friggin' hurt! What is that thing?” As he speaks, the object is rapidly diminishing in size and is about to drop over the distant horizon. “Whatever it is, it's fast!”
“Aw, don't pay it any mind. That's Ben Trayne. You come here a lot, you'll see him, most times. He writes fiction. Dude practically lives here.”
“That's a guy? How's he flying? What's the fire?”
“I guess you'd have to say it's a combination of psychic energy, motivation and imagination. He gets like that when he's writing. Sonuvabitch gets inspired, it happens. Someday, though, he's bound to crash!”
“Why's that?”
“We all do. But the soul is immortal, see? Look around you. See all the pockmarks on the surface?”
“Yeah! They're everywhere! Hadn't really noticed them before. Some are a lot deeper than others. What are they?”
“Well, see, this is also the last place you visit on the way to the 'hereafter.' Don't ask me what that is. But the holes and craters are representative of the marks we leave on our world, just by having been there. That one over there,” he offered, pointing, “was Mahatma Ghandi.”
“Wow!” That crater's deep!”
“Sure is. He left quite a mark. There're a few canyons, too. I think Ben's goin' for the gold.”
“Who is this guy? Is he somebody special?”
“Nah, definitely not. Don't think he's even interested in making a mark. But sometimes, I've gotta wonder. And anyhow, we all do.”
Again, the sky begins to brighten from behind them. The blue comet is approaching again, this time at greater altitude, more brightly and considerably faster.
“Whoa! That baby's bookin'! Glad he's to one side. Look at that!”
The glimmering something has already cleared the spot where the two are standing and now is beginning to spiral crazily as it moves away, deeper into the dark blue sky.
“Did he, like, lap the planet??”
“Yeah. I don't know how many that one was. I lost count after ten.”
“So, why am I here? Can you tell me that? Did I die?”
“Oh, hell no. Most likely, you're only here because Ben thought about you bein' here.”
“Well, hey! I don't like that! I wanta wake up, back where I came from! I wanta leave!”
As he objects, a seedily-dressed young man with spiked hair approaches from behind the two. He wears a tattered leather jacket and red-rimmed sunglasses, and the open collar of a yellow shirt juts toward his ears. “You wanta be gone? Gone!” He waves a hand. Instantly, the man disintegrates with a “smack,” and vanishes. In fact it's quite a sight, as body parts take on momentary teardrop shapes, and quickly disappear into thin air. “Damn! Ben's getting' good at that!”
“Herman! What are you doin' here?”
“Chillin', man.”
“That guy okay?”
“Oh, hell yeah. He's just wakin' up. Wherever.”
“But I don't understand! Aren't you always wherever Ben is? I mean, you're his inner writer!”
“Ha, hahahaha! Yeah, I should be. But every once in a while, I just let 'im go. He's on a real tear today, and I figured I couldn't help him anyway. This story probably doesn't need me.”
“Never thought I'd hear you say that! He's definitely got fire, though...I didn't know he could manage without you...”
“Well, yeah, I know. Lately, I hate to say it, but I've had trouble keepin' up with the old bastard. It's like he's driven or somethin'. And, like, I don't mind the barrel rolls, and I dig on the speed. But the barrel rolls, the high rate of speed and the altitude, you know, I'm just not ready to go out yet. And the sumbitch hasn't got a parachute.”
“But if he crashes, aren't you gone too?”
“Yeah, that's true. Doesn't mean I wanta experience the wreck.”
“Well, I've run into you two, many times. But I've never seen you in separate places.”
“Well, ya gotta understand. In the world of fiction, pretty much anything's possible. Would you believe, Ben doesn't even know he's flyin'? He's completely oblivious in there, typing away, working with music on. Right now, he's obsessing on Coldplay. Which isn't so bad. He'll stop, do a cigarette on his back porch and then go back to it, and most of the time, that damned fireball won't even slow down. Hey, what's he doin?”
The comet-slash-meteor-slash-blue-sparkly-thing has approached yet again, from behind them. But now it's changed color, the trailing flames have become red and gold, the body of the object, a brilliant purple. And as it begins to revolve slowly, it arcs into an upward trajectory. Suddenly it seems more like a spaceship with hyper-drive, as its blistering speed triples and it blasts straight up, into the star-sprinkled darkness of an endless, navy-blue sky.
Herman bounds across the pockmarked landscape. “Heyyy! Asshole! Wait for me! You didn't say...” Herman bursts into blue flame, or so it appears, and rockets vertically into the sky, accelerating rapidly. As he catches up with the speeding object, a burst of fire blooms, raining glimmering, silvery droplets gently toward the surface of the planet; a planet that's already growing smaller, from Ben's and Herman's perspective.
“Damn,” the remaining dreamer marvels. “Goin' for the gold.”
******************
I assume you've been highly inspired lately?
Absolutely.