When Duty Calls

Ah, the Void. I would say that being here feels amazing, but, truth to tell, it doesn’t feel like anything. That’s the point of the whole thing, and I’m perfectly fine with it. There might be no happiness, pleasure or satisfaction, yes, but there is also no worrying, no stress, no anxiety - only the mindless drifting through nothingness. I like being dead.

            There’s something wrong with the situation though, however, I just can’t quite put my finger on the source of the problem. But suddenly I realize what’s been making me slightly uneasy (even though it wasn’t supposed to happen here): there was something, just at the border of being audible, for quite some time already, but it was so quiet that it could have merely been an irate silence. Only by straining my non-existent ears do I manage to finally pick up the signal and realize with fury what it exactly is.

            Shit, not again.

            Some bored or desperate (or both) people are doing a séance again. Why can’t they ever knock it off? This is like the twentieth time my carefree nap had been interrupted, and each and every one of these occasions just makes me more and more annoyed. As their humming grows louder and louder, I feel as if my body was anchored and being pulled by a gentle but invisible force towards the direction of the ever so annoying noise. As my long-forgotten senses awake yet again, I start to see a dim room packed with rather bizarre props and whatnots: incenses, skulls, candles, crystal balls, you name it. Of course, as a skeptic, it all makes me want to laugh out loud. How could they believe in all that bullshit?

            I notice the main troublemaker: a gypsy woman with huge golden earrings is sitting at one end of the circle, with the other three holding hands with eyes tightly shut with concentration. Some of them even have beads of sweat appearing on their foreheads. Pathetic bastards, putting their faith and trust into something as useless as a séance like this. Not to mention the fact that they dragged me out of my eternal slumber during the process. The gypsy woman raises her head with her eyes looking into the void, and starts speaking in a voice that is clearly meant to be mystical; I find it rather annoying. She welcomes me in their company and promptly starts my interrogation. I join their stupid game: this is not the first time I’m doing this crap.

            She asks me who I am. I tell her I’m the relative of one of the attended, and that my name starts with either an E, an M, an N, or an A. To help out a little, I tell them that I had a bruise on my left knee. Since they want more information to confirm my identity, I tell them everything I can to make it so. I tell the chubby guy that he likes the colour blue and considers himself hard-working, yet caring. I tell the younger, red-haired girl that once she fell off the tree in their backyard. I inform the weeping guy with the goatee that he’s a sensitive person, but doesn’t have to worry: it takes all sorts to make a world. The gypsy woman asks me how I died. I answer by telling that I was close to water. Also that I had some medical issues, with my stomach and my throat. I tell them that I love them, and that they should try to avoid fatty food, and try exercising twice a week. And that sufficient sleep will make their skin smooth again. Then I say good-bye.

God damn it, when I remember how bad I felt after the first time I did this, but I realized: this is what you get if you believe in bullshit like this. Open your eyes and look around yourself for solutions. Learn to let go. Don’t look for the ultimate answer in a plane that you don’t even have anything to do with. The resolution is always in the same world as the problem. If someone tells you otherwise, you have the best reason to be mistrustful.

Finally, the gypsy witch decides I suffered enough, and releases me, thanking me for my assistance and wishing me a safe journey back to the land of the dead. I kick up one of the chairs as I leave, not as much as a sign of my presence as of my annoyance. Still, it feels good to scare those bastards a bit. Time to get back to my well-deserved rest. At any rate, I swear to... well whatever, the next time some assholes try summoning me, I’ll just play dead.

Misadventure on the Green Planet

            It all happened during the first days of our semester. Me and my friend Zlad have just arrived to the Green Planet as transfer students. I still remember the excitement I felt during our first walk on the streets of the Capital City. I have to admit that – judging by the brochures and informational tapes I saw about the planet – I was expecting something more... different. The truth was, however, that we could barely differentiate between the inhabitants of our new homeworld, and Planet Earth. People seemed a bit more relaxed, open-minded, and friendly, but it was too early to draw judgement, as we only met an insignificant fraction of the planet’s population. At any rate, we had a great time. Until the incident, that is. 

            A few days after our arrival we decided to pay a visit to Delta Park, which was supposedly a must-see for everyone who set foot on this world. Returning space-farers often mused for hours about the unique kind of peace they found there while lying in the grass between the gigantic pine-trees, listening to the bumblebees (that were quite larger yet more lazy and peaceful than their counterparts on Earth) buzzing around, and the mellow tinkling sound of the delicate streams flowing between the carefully placed rocks. We decided it was high time we checked with our own eyes if those myths were true. For safety measures, we put some of our beers (it was I who accidentally packed it into our luggage before leaving Earth, but we were quite happy about finding it out) into our bags.

            Delta Park lived up to its premise. The majestic trees, the warm breeze on our skin, the clean laughter of the little children who ran around carelessly all made us forget about our worries concerning our studies. We enjoyed some light-hearted conversation or just the mere sight of the warm and welcoming colours of the park, and were gulping down on our beers with apparent pleasure. I still vividly remember the moment when I noticed something strange on Zlad’s face: a glimpse of confusion and surprise crossed it for a brief moment and, as I followed his gaze, I noticed two seemingly enraged policemen advancing towards us.

            “Oh, you’re in trouble now, boys” the one with the beard said “You don’t wanna know how big trouble you are in. IDs. Now.”

            “What seem to be the problem, offi...”

            “IDs. Now.” Interrupted the bald cop Zlad, raising his voice perhaps just a bit more than it was necessary.

            So we showed them our IDs, and let them search us thoroughly, still not having the slightest idea about what was going on. One of the cops mumbled something into his walkie-talkie. I couldn’t understand what he said, but I thought I heard the word ‘junkies’. They gave us our stuff back (except the beers which they put into little plastic bags, and took with themselves) and prompted us into a police car. They weren’t too gentle while doing so. When we tried to ask them what we did, they told us to shut up. Things were looking bad.

            By the time we got to the police station, the last remaining morsels of our moral were methodically trampled into nonexistence by the policemen. Even though they refused to tell us the exact cause of our detainment, they just wouldn’t stop talking about what scum they believed us to be for corrupting the society.

            So in a cell we were being put, Zlad and I, and we spent about three hours there, between some tattooed or toothless, but generally smug-looking criminals without the slightest conception of why we were put there in the first place. When we tried to talk, we’ve been hissed or growled at by the policemen. It was apparent by the way they looked at us that we must have done something horrible. After seemingly endless hours of waiting, we’ve been collected and urged to see the sergeant on duty.

            When we were left alone with the morose-looking man with freckled skin and eyebrows so thick that smaller birds could have nested in it, he looked at us for long-long seconds with barely concealed disgust.

            “Well, boys,” he said eventually “From Planet Earth as I heard, yes?”

            As it turned out, we were not the only ones in a similar situation. In fact, there were dozens of students every year from our homeworld who happened to commit the same misdemeanour. Since the politicians of the Capital City got fed up by these “shameless attempts to spread moral decay and ideological corruption”, they decided it was high time they began properly punishing those who did not obey the regulations regarding this serious issue. Namely, the consumption of alcohol.

            “Why, of course it is illegal!” said the sergeant, answering our surprised inquiry, “It is one of the most dangerous substances known to man. Destroys your liver, your kidneys, your stomach, teeth, brain, all that in no time! And you haven’t even thought about your personality, your family, your future. Great job boys, way to wreck your life at such a young age!”

            When we started protesting, pointing out that we merely had two bottles of beer each, he laughed out in a rather cynical way.

            “That is how you all begin” he said, smearing his mighty eyebrows with a greasy thumb “A glass of beer first, then a bottle of wine, a few shots of vodka... hardly any time has to pass until you start off every day with some booze and, eventually, you catch yourself stealing your parents’ money just to get your hands on some cheap liquor. I’ve seen such stories, plenty of, and let me tell you: there’s no happy ending.”

            When we pointed out the fact that we’ve been actually happily consuming beer for ages without it turning us into raging alcoholics, all we got from him was an annoyed snort.

            “That’s what all of them says,” he said. “That’s what all of them says. Think you have control over it, don’t ya? Well, my friends, you are badly mistaken to believe that you can decide when you want to get off this ride! One beer, that’s all it takes, mark my words. That’s all it takes. What were you dumb-wits thinking, drinking in public, in front of children? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” he was doing a great job at infuriating himself, I had to admit it. “What kind of ideas do you think you are planting in their little heads? I’m sorry, but I just can’t let you go around destroying the moral backbone of our society. Next time do what every law-abiding citizen does here: smoke a spliff instead. Idiots.”

            So that’s how we became criminals. They took our fingerprints, our mugshots, and locked us in for two months. Needless to say, that resulted in our studies coming to an abrupt yet inevitable end. We couldn’t wait to leave the god-forsaken planet behind us for good.

            I still remember how it was our very first thing after arrival to visit the first pub we saw and get drunk like there was no tomorrow. We went on some brutal drinking-sprees with Zlad in the following years, but in a strange yet unpreventable way our friendship faded in the course of time. Somehow that joint experience made something click; nothing was the same any more. Before long, we discontinued our drinking nights – which became more and more reckless with time – and barely heard of each other since. The last thing I heard about him was that he had one of his kidneys removed and, as a result, he had to spend half a year in some austere public clinic. Serves him right, for all that mindless drinking he did recently...

            As for me, I gave up the idea of getting a degree, and became a car mechanic. Not that it’s the best job I can think of, but provides me with enough to wet my whistle from time to time. Speaking of which, I think it’s time I stopped writing right now. All this rambling about past memories made me quite thirsty. I just need a small sip of something, nothing more... for old time's sake.

The Artifact

As sanctioned by the Intergalactic Federal Bureau, this story has been removed until further revision due to its lackluster ending. Such monstrosities shouldn't pollute the already miserable literary atmosphere of planet CHC/0079-157.

Signed: Harkloid Bleebretropf