Living the Dream
Janet Baldey
Giles’
king-sized water bed rippled in tune with his body and the girl sighed softly
as she trembled on the crest of her orgasm. They climaxed simultaneously and as
they did so Giles heard the first chords of a new composition sweep into his
mind. Later, her dusky body gleaming
with perspiration, the girl slipped from his bed like a shadow and Giles lay watching
sunlight form patterns on his ceiling. The music in his mind grew stronger as
he re-arranged the notes to form swelling chords and he smiled at how easy it
was.
His
low, white villa was smothered with bougainvillea and as he drew back the
curtains and threw open the verandah windows, he looked out on a rolling
turquoise sea less than a hundred yards away. Naked, he ran towards the surf,
dived into the cool water and within a few swift strokes he was through the
creamy foam. Flipping himself onto his back, he floated, staring up at a sky
filled with wheeling seabirds, feeling the soft lips of jewel-like tropical
fish as they gently nibbled his body. He floated, thinking about his music and
how he would incorporate the sound of the waves and the metallic clatter of the
surf as it drained away from the glistening pebbles.
Before
returning to the villa, he flung himself down onto the soft sand and executed a
hundred press-ups without breaking into a sweat. When he stood, the grains of
sand powdering his body glowed like gold dust.
The
walls of his bathroom shone with mirrors that somehow never steamed over;
stepping out of his Jacuzzi, he looked into them and flashed his white teeth.
Peering closer, he scrutinized his firm, tanned skin but could see not the
smallest wrinkle or blemish of any kind.
His dark blond hair showed no trace of grey and his tawny eyes were
clear and luminous. The mirrored
surfaces reflected a muscled body with not an ounce of surplus fat and his
bronzed forearms swelled as he flexed his biceps. Pretty good for sixty-eight, he thought.
As
he breakfasted, he mapped out his day. As usual, the morning would be spent at his
Steinway where fingers rippling over the keys, he would create arpeggio’s that
would bring joy to music lovers everywhere. In the heat of the afternoon, he
would recline on his lounger and read the national newspapers brought to him by
special helicopter delivery each morning. At dusk, he usually went for a walk
along the beach watching as the sun melted into the horizon. A hint of a line appeared between his
perfectly shaped eyebrows as he remembered he had a chore to perform. Tomorrow
evening he was due to fly to Zurich
to be presented with yet another prestigious award and needed to select his
outfit. Two rooms of his villa were set aside for his wardrobe and it took some
time but carefully, Giles made his selection. At last, he decided on a dove
grey Armani suit teamed with a gold striped shirt and a darker grey silk tie. Nodding in satisfaction, he started to turn
away but froze in mid step as his brain exploded with excruciating pain,
stabbing shards of bright light flashed before his eyes and on a rising tide of
nausea, he spun into a black velvet void.
He
rose to the surface feeling talons gripping his arms. His limp body was being dragged over a flinty
surface. At last, he was set down and he felt hands slapping gently at his face
and heard the sound of a gravelly voice.
‘Wake up’, it said.
He
groaned and his eyelids fluttered open. For a moment he lay immobile, then his
eyes bulged; there was a skeletal figure peering intensely into his face; its
skin was yellowish and creased like an elephant’s hide while grey wisps of hair
clung to a shrunken skull. Black holes,
masquerading as eyes, burned into him.
As he struggled to wake from what must be a bad dream the apparition
spoke.
‘I
know what you’re thinking. But you’re in
no nightmare, or if it is, it’s a living one.’
The creatures’ lips twisted.
Slowly, Giles became aware of maybe another
dozen figures crowded around him; his eyes flitted from face to face and then
beyond. He was in some sort of a
cavern, the walls were of pitted stone and ran with moisture and the only light
came from a dull glare outside the entrance.
It was stiflingly hot and the acrid stench of its occupants sickened
him.
Giles
tried to speak but his tongue filled his mouth.
‘Thirsty,’ he gasped.
Immediately a tin cup was put to his lips and he gulped convulsively. It
tasted foul.
‘I’m
afraid we have no freshwater. The slaves are artificially hydrated at night
but we have to make do’. The man
gestured and Giles saw a line of containers placed at intervals along the
cavern’s floor, each catching a few dribbles of yellowish liquid that condensed
down the walls.
The stranger leaned forward and peered at Giles.
‘Let me see. What were you? An artist?
A poet? James, here, was a sculptor
and Peter, a famous tenor. I was an author. Ideas stampeded through my head.
All my books were bestsellers – it was all an illusion of course.
Hauling Giles to his feet he propelled him to
the mouth of the cave.
‘This
is reality!’
In the harsh glare of arc lights Giles saw
hundreds of skeletal figures, hacking frenziedly at the face of a huge mine
while others hauled containers filled to the brim with smoking ore. The figures
were covered with running sores and their hair was matted but their eyes were
far away and each mouth was wearing an idiot’s smile.
‘Those poor fools are living
the dream. Just like we did. In reality, they’re slaves. We all were.’ He gripped Giles’ arm, fiercely. ‘The truth
is, we’ve been colonized By aliens. Things
from outer space! They chose their time
well. Mankind was worn out by
infighting and the battle against climate change. Before we knew it, the sky was black with
spaceships and we were lost. They needed the minerals Earth could supply, and slaves to mine them. So they implanted chips into our brains and we were
programmed to believe anything we wanted. They microchipped us into submission’.
He
lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and as he did so, his sunken eyes
blazed.
‘But,
now we have a chance. Their technology is flawed. More and more of the chips
are failing. Just as yours did. When mine failed, I was lucky. About a dozen gave up at the same time and
one of them was Michael’s.’
He gestured at a figure in the background upon
whose emaciated face was the ghost of a handsome man.
‘In the old days, he was a professor of
sociology. When his chip failed, his
brain held enough memory to help him piece together what had happened. It’s thanks to him that we weren’t picked up
by the aliens and re-programmed. He
brought us to this place and shared his memories with us. Every day, we
remember more.’
Suddenly,
he grasped Giles’ arm and pulled him back. As he did so a strobe of light
pulsed towards them.
‘They don’t need many guards, the slaves don’t
escape. But they’re catching on to the fact that they have a problem, so you
have to keep out of the light.’
Giles
stared at him. He tried to swallow but
his dry throat clicked. Momentarily, a
picture flashed before his eyes. A small child splashed through puddles wearing
bright red rubber boots, his hair was soaked and his face ran with
rainwater. Giles licked his lips.
The
man spoke again.
‘We have to fight back. It’s our duty. The poor fools outside, won’t
last long. Two years and they’ll be dead.’
He
looked at Giles sardonically.
‘In
your dream you had women, didn’t you? A
different one every night? Every time
you made love you impregnated a female slave and a baby was born. They have enormous nurseries of future
slaves to take the place of those that die.
It makes me sick to think of it.
We have to rescue them before they can be chipped. Join us and help beat
them, it may not happen in our lifetime but our numbers are growing, although
some choose to go on fooling themselves.
They can’t stand reality, you see.’
Giles
looked down at himself. He was dressed
in filthy rags and his body was thin and wasted. He knew the man was telling
the truth. But then, he thought of his
villa by the sea, his music and the girls. He stepped away from the man, turned and
walked out of the cavern. He did not look back as he walked a few paces,
stopped, spread out his arms and waited for the light.
Copyright Janet Baldey
