Brain Scratch

Greetings readers. Last night I was attempting to finish a short story I had started the other day, when I was struck by a complete lack of inspiration and ideas. Then the scene below came to me. It is completely unrelated to what I was working on, and I don’t generally use this genre - But I liked it so I thought I’d share it. (Largely Inspired by some random Euro-Electrononense I was listening to on Last.fm when I should have been sleeping)

Note: This is only an initial draft; I have given it only a minor edit since writing and uploading. I may try and work it into something more substantial another time.
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Above the terminal building of the Ganymede Gateway the two-foot high laser-formed floating-rotating clock flashed 18:30. On either side display screens immediately projected 3d images of the latest events deemed newsworthy.

Somewhere a riot had turned ugly. Silently, images of armoured enforcers engaging “terrorists of the peace” danced above the heads of commuters in the square. Anybody who questioned the authorities was a terrorist of the peace, and a terrorist of the peace was prone to disappear or drop dead suddenly. That’s the way things went now.

The headline praised the enforcers for subduing a threat to the security of the state.

In the square, just off centre, stood a vagrant known as Elvis. He had aquamarine coloured hair styled like a much-loved icon from a time before the new-reality. Ignoring the mute battle playing out overhead, he played an Electro-lele and sang about the end of time in a deep-bass heavy voice that defied his tall, willowy frame. Around his neck he wore a sign that read ‘Mankind is not free’.

The crowd looked past him, flowed past him; broke against him – like water against a rock face. Converging once more as they passed, they moved so quickly that their faceless, uniform bodies appeared to morph into one liquid entity and move in a unity that was almost beautiful. Or so thought Ed, from a bench on the opposite side of the square. It was beginning to kick in.

Everything seemed louder, brighter – more intense. He laid back and thought of nothing, soaking the sounds in. He drew in a breath so deep that his inflated lungs felt close to bursting, he held it until his eyes began to water then expelled. For a moment everything feel silent, the tears in his eyes made the new-reality look as though it were melting. He covered his eyes with his hands. His foot found rhythm against the metal tap-tap tap-tap tap-tap. The entire metallic form beneath his body hummed to the sound of the beat, resonating a hollow-doom impending metallic sound.

Jazz was sat, cross-legged, on the artificial green beside the bench - the fibre optic grass glowed warmly reflecting the soft greens, sunburnt orange and occasionally patch of purple in the evening sky. She took a long drag on her lo-fi brand cigarette, closed her eyes, then threw her head back and exhaled a column of blue smoke toward the stars. A shadow darkened the inside of her eyelids; she opened them to see the face of Poli frowning down at her. “Shouldn’t smoke those.” Jazz reached up with her free hand and pulled the face closer “I know.” They locked lips before Poli pulled back and spun away, dancing to some imaginary tune.

Le Faux saw none of this; he lay flat out with his arms outstretched, perfectly still but for his eyes that constantly moved across the neon stained sky. He watched the rocket ships in the upper atmosphere leave orbit, watched the passenger craft on the middle level make the ascent to the gateway; watched the low altitude zeppelins with their neon billboards and visual display screens float overheard.

From some undetermined source an electric voice began to speak bean to sing. Drums began to beat in unison, slowly at first – before speeding up into a quick paced beat. Synthesized melodies crept into the air from every direction. The images on the display screens grew distorted. Elvis stopped singing.

Ed laughed – Le faux was on his feet, grabbing Poli by both hands they danced clumsily around Jazz who looked on with a subtle smile. She took another drag on her cigarette. She could feel the vibrations of the drums in the ground. Her body began to sway in time with the beat, with the tap taping of Ed’s foot on the bench.

The crowd no longer moved in unity. Ed let his head roll to one side – he could see the faces now, could see the confusion. Elvis looked up, and smiled. They came from everywhere, sweeping across the artificial green, the square – slipping into the crowd of uniformity. Colour – movement, they danced, they bade the commands of the electric voice that still sang.

Order had been disrupted. A new sound, distant at first – but they wailed louder with every passing second. Sirens. The two-foot high laser-formed floating-rotating clock flashed 18:33.

Brain Scratch! Yelled Ed as he pulled himself upright. Jazz nodded, her eyes were closed. She exhaled another jet of blue smoke and smiled. The fun was about to begin.