Time moves slowly in both directions. We age, we get older, move forward, comparing our motion of life to all other motions around, especially the hands of a clock. The past moves behind, distant things in the past become even more distant. The leaves change color, they fall away, and snow comes down hiding the past from our memory. At least for a little while. The window of the back seat of a 1986 Taurus feels the coldest on these days.
As Sam stared out the window at the subtle mush of white snow a despair fell over him. The realization that life had not turned out anywhere close to what he hoped. Had he over planned, constrained himself to much to a single set if ideals? No, he had switched majors halfway through college after an unpleasant winter as an exchange student to another college. Sam rolled his head to stare out the other side of the car. It was the same snowy mush, but it made him feel better to turn his head. Depression began to set in. Had he not been specific enough and his endeavors? No he has known where he wanted to end up since he was ten. An artist working for movie companies or games or some other part of that seemingly glamorous industry. 'Maybe I just was the wrong type of person to try to go into such a field. A screw up.' Finding no counter argument to that thought he settled on it as the answer. There was something wrong with him, he was imperfect, defective even. Sam sighed gently as he tried to listen back in to the rambling of his sister and his mother in the front seat. To late the conversation was not one that he could follow or at least not one he wanted to chime into. He rolled his head back out to the original window and let the last three years go over in his mind. The choices he had made, where had he gone wrong. Names, faces, people popped in and out some being labeled good, others bad, and a last batch he labeled neutral. But he ultimately decided he couldn't blame anyone else for his faults. He was defective.
The political scene wasn't helping either. The political landscape had changed after a ten year fallout from a previous leader that now shared the same ideology as the current head of state. This would mean a greater downfall in another ten years time, but people had blamed the last president for problems that had been started under his predecessor. The political upset had torn America, and had disturbed Sam. How an entire people could react so blindly to words. How a nation could be sweet talked to turning over control of their weapons, defense, and even the care of their life to a single political power. A brief paranoia set in as Sam wondered whether there was another hand hidden behind a velvet curtain, attempting to control the people the way Cesar did. Offer the people pennies in exchange for millions and they will give you their hearts and minds. Autonomy had become a joke, so had individual liberties.
The only thing that had remotely given Sam peace in his time of pain were the dreams. A beautiful girl, oriental in ethnicity, shoulder length black hair, and most importantly to Sam was the personality. Smart, bold, humorous, a leader, a little naive at times; but to Sam perfect. It seemed like every time he had closed his eye at night for the past 3 years she had been there: to talk to him, to play with him, to show him things he could never imagine. Sam sighed from the back seat. But now even that was gone. Almost a month ago in one the dreams she had come to him on a beach.
"I have to go for a little while," she had said.
"Why?" he asked.
"It is hard to explain, but we will be together soon. I promise you. One thing to remember..." The noise of the ocean crashing on the beach drowned out the last part.
Sam stirred in the back set, restless from the car ride. The car rolled up a short drive into the driveway. The engine turned off and Sam's mother and sister got out of the car. Sam paused for a second before opening his door. He followed the chattering women through the back door of the house, but as they continued to walk and talk he retreated to his upstairs room. His solitude. One sure way to get over this feeling was to indulge himself in a fantasy world. A world created on the net, a world with out limits or boundaries. He sat, staring into his computer screen. The only thing that kept him from insanity.
*******
The night sky lit up a single instance. The clouds scattered and for a second space and earth were one. A bright energy, almost like that of a solar flare, wrapped into a wreath, and pushing itself forward like a squid. It descended down upon an empty grassy hill. It hovered there for a second before pushing forward once again. To it Earth was poisonous, toxic even. Not so much the physical aspects, but the aspects of thought. So many different thoughts began to suffocate the light. Like a thousand different ropes trying to pull it in all direction the thoughts were. None of them organized, none of the united. It shivered for a second as it tried to regain it's composure. It then retreated deeply into a chrysalis state. Seeking the thoughts of the worlds for one, one thought that it desired more then any other. One thought that it had followed from the depths. His thought.
*******
Mist sat at the bar watching the natives. She had been served a beer but did not partake of it. instead she grasped it her right hand examining the neck of the bottle. Leather vests, flannel shirts, jeans, and an impaired sense of country music surrounded her. She glanced upward at a clock in the shape of a motorcycle and not finding what she desired examined the clock once more while looking through her green bottle. The natives sense of time was limited to that of comparing motion to other motion. No true sense of the fundamentals of what time could be if used properly. She watched the billiard table again. Their sense of physics was primitive as well she noted, but more evolved then many other forms of life she had been around. She glanced at the clock again, this was more out a sense visual verification, as she knew the clock was one minute and fourteen seconds off respectively. She decided as the last few seconds of her countdown finished to sample the nectar that had been brought before her. She held the bottle to her mouth and drank. The liquid vaporized as soon as it hit her throat. She glanced at her hand as she noted how the alcohol had raised her temperature slightly. She placed the beer down on the counter and walked towards the women restroom.
The lighting was dingy, but better then the bar outside. She counted one stall, two stalls, three stalls; and with military like grace turned to face it she walked into the stall and let the door close behind her. She held up her right hand pushed into and through the wall, followed in turn by her whole body. She emerged into the facing stall in the men's restroom. She turned around facing the toilet and carefully lifted the lid on it. Inside the toilet, in a plastic bag, was a manila folder with writing and a logo scribbled on the outside of it. She opened the folder and flipped through some of the pages. Unimpressed she placed it back in the plastic bag and pushed her face through the stall divider wall to the fourth stall. Finding it empty she proceeded to walk though with her whole body and then continued through the outer wall to out behind the bar.
*******
Sam finished playing his game and prepared himself for bed. Still depressed at his realization earlier in the day, his self hate had diminished some. He pushed the covers off his bed, layed down, and pulled them back up around him. Tomorrow was another day. Sam closed his eyes and went to sleep.
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