Tuesday, January 24, 2017

A Darker Shade of Pale

After the incident with the old man and the boy on the foggy day, I didn't think this town could get much weirder. Evidently, I was wrong. On a certain Thursday morning after the incident, I embarked upon my usual walk past Rainbow River to get my weekly dose of peace. This time was different, though. As I passed the river, I noticed it was decked out in Rainbow colors. What sort of celebration was this? Was there a gay pride festival that I was unaware of? Intrigued, I approached the river to get a close look. I recognized one of my mates from the Victorian, Boaz Johnson. He was fishing, and he acted as though the environment we both stood in was perfectly normal. "What's the deal with the water?", I said.
"There's loads of rainbow trout in this here river now! I'm just here for my daily dose!"
His rhetoric sounded familiar.
My conversation with Boaz didn't continue, as he was intent on his fishing, but I continued my walk toward the river. I began to perceive colorful shapes just on the river's edge. As I got closer to these mysterious objects, I realized that they were some kind of plant that had been thoroughly manipulated by god knows what. It was also at this vantage point that I saw the huge Crayola Factory that I hadn't spotted earlier, looming over the river. Behind its rainbow-colored facade was an aura of noxiousness that was hard not to ascertain. I saw plants of all different colors, some seeming more like fruits and vegetables than others, which seemed more like sessile animals. I was mesmerized, but I couldn't help it. My vision became blurry and all I could think about were this newfound creations that looked almost good enough to eat. I found myself walking toward a certain blue-colored plant. Before I could even attempt to stop my progress, I had taken an ever-so-slight nibble of the plant. Apparently, blue was not the color that would appease my fantasies, because I found myself spinning out of control. In no time at all, I was on the ground. I was out cold.
                                                                   •       •        •
I woke up to the soothing, southern voice of Mr. Boaz Johnson. He told me that everything was going to be alright if I just lay there for a little bit longer; he had to get back to his fishing.

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

This Isn't the Town You're Looking For

Although it is very foggy, I decide to go to the park to take advantage of this rare weather phenomenon. As I approach the park, I start to see some of my neighbors wandering around aimlessly. I wonder this: what they are all doing here? Then I see a tent set up under a tree, and I am too curious not to creep closer. I come upon an old guy and a boy, and hope to god they are related. I see the train that is blocking all the roads in this town and assume that that's where the boy and man came from, but why would the train be stopped here? Never in my time in this town has a train stopped, and certainly not in tandem with other spooky events. Just as I start to wonder if all of these disturbing events are coincidental or not, the man sees me and begins to yell a simple phrase in my direction: "the truth with all its power lives inside me". He keeps repeating the phrase as if the more time I hear it, the better I will understand, but seeing that the kid he is responsible for has duct tape covering his mouth, I highly doubted that aphorism. Since the man seems mentally disturbed, I decide not to come any closer, but to covertly reestablish the path that I had been walking. I look back every so often, and every time, the man's eyes are still trained on me. I take off at a sprint and only stop until the man is completely out of sight; it doesn't take long because of the thick fog the engulfs the park. Just when I've stopped sprinting, I run into another strange person. She appears to be gliding just off the ground, and she definitely doesn't look like she's from around here. Similarly to the old man, she also has a short phrase to offer, but this time it's a question. "Look, if you had, one shot, or one opportunity, to seize everything you ever wanted. In one moment, would you capture it, or just let it slip"? If this is the moment she is talking about, I'm not the one who's "capturing" anything. By this point in time I am thoroughly freaked out. I decide the best course of action is to head back home slowly, not startling any more extra-terrestrial looking people. It is in this moment though, that the fog becomes to thick to discern any helpful landmarks. Maybe the truth that the old man was talking about is that I'm stuck here forever.