Living the Dream

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