#writing
Chapter 3: Vertigo
Max awoke from his sleep the same way he always had for the past 15 years, the same reluctant attitude to start the day, the same sun, shining directly into his eyes from between his broken shutters, and the same enduring thought, that he was bound to repeat this routine for years to come. The only apparent difference between this morning and any other from the past 15 years was the slight hangover he was afflicted with from the events that happened the night before. He brushed it off, trying to ignore it as he went through his morning routine; breakfast, a cold shower, and the same overalls he wore every day to work. Today though, there was something, off… Max couldn’t quite tell what it was, but he knew something was out of place, or something was added. It wasn’t something as apparent as his house suddenly changing it’s layout, but it was that obvious. “Had someone gone and changed the shades of his carpets to be slightly lighter? No, why would someone break in to do something so minor, had someone lowered his chair-leg height by a fraction of an inch? No, it wasn’t that either.” Max couldn’t quite tell what it was, but something was definitely off. Max stared down at his watch, which seemed odd to be on his left arm. “Oh crap I’m late.” Max said out loud to his empty house, trying to ignore his perceptions as he rushed to work.
The next day, much to Max’s dismay, was much the same. He saw small, minute differences in objects throughout his day, but these small changes disappeared like they were never there when he focused directly on them. “I could’ve sworn this toothbrush had more bristles, when did that crack appear on my windshield?” he asked himself these questions throughout the day, with them only becoming more prevalent and unanswerable as time went on.
As the days went on, his apparent “condition” got worse and worse, even when he thought it couldn’t get any worse. By the 2nd day he felt scared to even leave the house, and by the 3rd day he didn’t even leave his room. He seemed less and less attached to everything he saw, and he began to question the reality he had always had so much faith in, or at least the reality he had remembered. The only place he felt like he truly understood things was in his own brain, yet the fact that it could retain such memories without anchoring them to any solid facts only worked to fuel his questioning. He was like a rock on a riverbed, slowly being chipped away at by the fast-flowing water, unable to grasp any sense of constant except the change itself. He slowly lost faith in everyday household objects, scrutinizing every detail of them as if a friend was playing a prank on him by replacing his possessions. But Max didn’t have any friends, and a prank on this level would be too grand to be played out, especially on someone as random as himself. Max found no answers to his situation, and that silence brought him no solace.
On the 5th day Max lost his job at the Auto Factory, after failing to show up for three days. His 15 year record of perfect attendance meaning nothing, even his co-workers forgetting his presence after a few days. Not that this mattered much to Max, he had forgotten he had even had a job, being much more fixated on how the hairs on his arm seemed to have moved since the last time he blinked. No neighbors came to his house, no family members called to check up on him. His isolation he had so happily endured now becoming his greatest weakness, like a hole in a boat for a man lost at sea.
His mail piled up in his mailbox, until the mailman couldn’t even put any more mail in it. . Max made an attempt to read some of it, in a desperate attempt to find sort of sanity in the world, but the characters seemed alien to him. He went to a neighbor to ask for help in deciphering his mail, but all the neighbor heard was incoherent mumbling as Max tried to form sentences in a language he was becoming disattached to.
The neighbor reached out a helpful arm for the distressed man “Sorry? I can’t understand you, do you need help? Are you ok?” Max couldn’t understand what the man said, and ran back inside confused and frightened, leaving his mail at the neighbor’s feet.
Max sat under the comfort of his blanket on his bed. In near total darkness under his bed cover, he sat motionless. It was the only place left he felt comfortable and constant anymore, yet even then he felt the texture of the blanket changing slightly. Sometimes it was rough and wool-like, others it was a thick fur. He was further pushed back into his mind, which was the only thing that didn’t change. This seemed to be a blessing and a curse, as because he knew what he was perceiving, it allowed him to have a firsthand view and part in assuring his own insanity. Max didn’t know what was happening to him, and at this point he could barely remember when it started.
“Have I always been like this?”
“No, get a grip Max, this isn’t normal, you were normal before.”
“What’s wrong with me? Have we gone insane?
“No, there’s no way we’ve gone insane, someone’s playing a prank, or they’re drugging us”
“Who would do that? Seems like a lot of work, yet it’s all so real, it’s unexplainable…”
“We should go outside again, maybe we can get help”
“No! If we go outside we will get lost, we’re basically lost in this house by itself, and every day it seems less and less familiar.”
“So what do we do? We get worse and worse every day!”
“We have to break the cycle while we can still think a little bit straight.”
“You don’t mean…”
“Death brings eternal silence, and it will be our peace, we have no other option”
On what Max wasn’t sure was his tenth day of unending torment, Max, with his reasoning seemingly faded beyond repair, he tried to kill himself. From Max’s perspective though, of which it was the one of the last things he was sure of, it was the most sane decision he had ever made. It wasn’t a decision he wanted, but it was one he needed, and it was out of desperation. He figured the only way to end his terrible perceptions would be to end his ability to perceive all together.
Max took a few uneasy steps out of his unfamiliar house. The clouds in the sky squiglled like worms in his peripheral vision but seemed to float back to their normal path when he looked directly at them. He had to look at the ground to make sure he didn’t trip over anything as he uneasily walked out into the street. He was lucky enough to not need glasses and not old enough to need hearing implants, but he imagined this is a lot like what it was, only 10 times worse. His perceptions seemed to betray his mind, but this one he one thing he was sure of. He uncovered an old handgun from his pocket, back from his military years. It wasn’t the one he used in the military, but it was the same make and model, and the grooves on the handle felt comforting in his trembling hands. He screamed some incoherent jargon to his neighbor down the road, whose face turned from inviting to shock as he stared down the barrel of the gun held by the crazed lunatic. Max pointed the gun at the man uneasily, who stood still and surprisingly calm throughout the ordeal. Neighbors gathered at their windows to watch the crime scene unfold in front of them. Mothers closed blinds and hurried kids off to back rooms while fathers stared on helplessly while they called the police. Max was oblivious of the doings of the people around him, barely able to remember why he was even standing in the unfamiliar street he had driven down for 15 years. The man, in a selfless act of devotion, tried to ease Max by telling him to put the gun down and slowly move closer. Max stood confused at the man, wondering why he had such a cautious body language, and why he was talking in such a soothing voice. Max stared down at his hands, shocked to see a gun in his right hand, causing him to promptly jump and swing the gun rapidly in the direction of the man. The man dove to the floor behind a car at this sudden lapse in perception, while the more daring bystanders rushed back into their houses at the uncaring waving of the weapon. The man continued to console Max from behind the car, who only perceived the words as incoherent shouts and ramblings. Max tried to respond, but his words were only heard by him as mumbles and moans. At this point Max’s confusion of the situation caused him to remember why he was outside holding a gun, and he was brought to a feeling of shame and embarrassment as he stared at the neighbors who looked at him like they were deer in a headlight, completely at his mercy. He realized he wouldn’t get this moment of clarity again, and in one sudden movement, he moved the gun up from the man to his head, and promptly pulled the trigger. He was surprised to hear the click of the trigger, feeling that he’d be dead by now, and even more surprised by the screams of the people around him as he completed his action. Before he even had time to contemplate what had happened, he was shoved to the floor harshly by a police officer and blacked out as his head banged against the pavement.
Max awoke sitting on a thin mattress/cot, his head feeling like small little daggers were digging into his skull. His vision was blurry, but not in the way it was before. He could actually perceive his blurriness! His pain, although severe, was understood by his brain! He felt around his head and touched a bandage wrapped around his head, feeling a small bump where he had fallen, which hurt to the touch. He wasn’t sure how he had regained his clarity, but he wasn’t about to let it go to waste. He studied the room around him as his vision slowly came back to him. The walls were cold and grey, he presumed they were concrete, and in front of him he could see some other rooms, although they seemed to be separated by tall, similarly grey gates. He Got up uneasily, using the frame of the cot to balance himself, and went to examine the gates. As he got closer, he lost his balance and leaned into the gates as he was too far from the support of the bed. His depth perception wasn’t all back, and his hand went right through the slits of the gate, causing his head to bang against the gate with a loud thonk. The pain in his head went up significantly, feeling like someone was pushing his skull inwards on his brain, but the feeling the pain only signified to him more that his clarity was back, which brought him minor joy. He used his hands to support himself off the gate, which were colder than the concrete walls. He figured they were actually bars of some sort, given their metallic feel, but what place has bars? He stared down at his body and much to his dismay, he saw an orange blob roughly following the shape of his body. He was in a prison.
Just then, two blobs walked towards the cell bars. As they got closer, they appeared to be wearing blue suits, so they must be police officers. One of the officers yelled at him to sit down on his bed, while the other one fumbled with a ring of keys to open the cell door. The shorter looking officer finally opened the cell door with a clink of the keys, while the other grabbed him harshly by the arm and forced him into a powerless position. The cop then handcuffed Max while the other one examined him.
“How are you feeling Max, can you walk?” The taller officer asked. She appeared to be a female based on her voice, and she was much taller than the shorter cop currently putting Max in handcuffs behind him. She seemed to examine him with much reluctance, as if this was the third druggie she had detained this week, but with the due diligence of a professional.
“Yea, i’m fine I guess. How’d I get here?” Max slurred out, shuffling uncomfortably as the cop behind him raised his arm in a way he wouldn’t normally bend it.
“All that will be explained in a second, I just need to make sure you’re fit to walk and talk before we deal with all the questioning.” The female officer informed him. She nodded to the cop behind him, who pushed him to a room down the hall from his cell. Max tripped as his walking was still uneasy, but the man behind him pushed him up by the arm and kept him walking. Everything around Max still seemed to be blurry, but from the looks of the room, he wasn’t in prison, he was just in a local police station, which assured him a little bit, as he wasn’t sure why he was even here, and he couldn’t even remember what it was he did. It couldn’t have been that bad though if he only had a two guard escort in a small town jail, who seemed to be in no rush.
The guard in front opened up the door to a room a little bit down the hall from his cell, and motioned for the guard behind him to sit him down in a chair in a metal folding chair in the middle of the room. Max sat down, and examined the room a little bit better while the guard uncuffed hir left hand from his right, but moved the left hand cuff to a ring on the chair, which now appeared to be bolted down to the ground. The room was similar in size to his cell, with the similarly grey concrete material for the walls, except a wooden door where the bars would be, and a mirror to his left. Old crime movies told him the mirror was a one way window, but wasn’t sure if anyone actually sat on the other side in small cases such as his. In front of him sat a metal table with papers and folders strewn across it, and a man sitting adjacent organizing these papers. The man had a dirty grey suit with what appeared to be coffee stains covering his dress shirt, partially covered by his crumpled grey jacket. He had a short, unshaven beard with obviously little maintenance, and long unkempt brown hair which he threw back like a mullet. His most distinguishable feature though was his yellow tinted aviators, which gave him a sense of importance, without losing that humanity by covering his eyes with polarized, black lenses. Once Max was properly detained, the two police officers left the room to just Max and the man, who sat there shuffling the papers seemingly unaware of Max’s presence.
Max sat in silence for a moment, noticing a clock behind his head on the wall, the clicking being the only sound in his ears besides the occasional shuffling of papers.
“Do you know where you are?” The man asked suddenly, looking up from his papers.
“Uh yea, I’m in a police station.” Max answered, caught off guard by his sudden break from silence.
“Yes yes I know that but broader, do you know where you are?” The man asked intently
“I’m in Logan town Ohio?” Max asked, not knowing if that was the right answer.
“Broader.” The man asked with an enigmatic smile.
“What do you mean broader? The US? How much broader can I be? Earth? The Milky Way?” Max answered angrily.
“I think you’re missing the point, I’m not talking physically.” The Man said in a playful manner.
“I don’t see how this matters.” Max answered
“Why don’t you let me do my job, and you just answer the questions. Where do you work Max?” The man asked without any seeming care.
“I-I work in an auto factory, or at least I think I did, I remember getting a letter of termination, but everything from a week or so ago is… foggy.” Max said uncomfortably, showing a great deal of effort when trying to remember the events of the past week.
“Do you feel like you’re making a difference there, slaving away at the factory, do you think anything in your life matters? Anything you’ve done?” The man asked out of the blue, leaning in towards Max in a seemingly offtopic and confrontational way.
“I don’t see how this is relevant, I want to leave.” Max demanded, not wanting to be reminded of these ideas or the outburst in the grocery store. Max tried to stand up, but was put at an awkward hunch as the chain around his wrist pulled on his arm, constraining him to the chair. Max struggled to free himself from the chain’s grasp, while the Man stared at him uncaringly.
“It doesn’t matter what you do Max, out there, you’re still handcuffed to a chair, you just don’t realize it.”
Max turned to the Man, his interest piqued by the Man’s strange words. “What are you talking about?”
The man smiled. “Your whole life is just shapes against a wall, shadows of a world you’ll never see, and that you could never understand.”
Max glared at the man “Alright this clearly isn’t an interview anymore, who are you?”
The man grinned again, leaning back in his chair, something Max couldn’t do because he was bolted to the floor. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me”
“Try me.” Max said.
The man leaned forward, close enough for Max to touch him if he wasn’t handcuffed to the table. “My name is Dexter and I’m a person from 2164 looking into a simulation to toy with your existence. I’m God.”
“You don’t seem so godlike to me” Max said, before spitting on the man’s face and leaning back awkwardly in the unmoving chair.
The man sat unmoving for a second, the saliva dribbling viscously down the side of his forehead and creeping into his inner ear. “You know, i’m not normally this personal with my subjects, but for you I made an exception, considering everything you gave me.” The man gestured to the room around him, as if Max had made it just for him. “But alas, If you’re not gonna respect me, then I’ll give you a reason to respect me”.
The man stood up and snapped his fingers, as if to trigger some sort of grand event, but nothing happened. Max scoffed. “Is this some elaborate prank? If i’m in trouble that’s fine but i’d like to speak to a lawy-”.
Just then Max couldn’t speak. In fact, he couldn’t do much of anything. He found his whole body had been stuck in space, except his eyes which he used to hesitantly scan the area. The room around him had disappeared, his body now sitting frozen on what appeared to be thin air, surrounded by nothing. In front of him stood the man, who seemed unchanged by the ordeal, still sitting in his previous position, staring at Max with a villainous gaze. “Now do you see Max?” The man stood up from his seemingly invisible chair, and walked on a bed of nothing towards Max. “I control this reality, and everything you perceive. My only goal is to torment you and you only. Consider it a great gift to even be told this knowledge, for it is the only true thing in your world. Everything else is pointless.”
Dexter stared at Max expectantly, as if he was entitled to a startled, almost fearful reaction, but Max only stared blankly at the man in the white suit, he was still processing the information thrown at him. Pointless? How could his entire life be pointless? This man went on rambling like a crazy person, but he definitely had the power to back up his claims of godlike power. But if he was a god, or some godlike being, why would a god be so fixated on him? Especially on something as typical as his torment? Surely a god would have greater things on his mind than proving his power to some insolent mortal such as himself? The man before him, he was too quarrelsome, too narcissistic, too greedy, too, human. That was just it, they were the ideas of a human. Max didn’t fully understand where the power of the man came from, if he was drugged, or if he truly was in some sort of “simulation”, but he knew that if he wanted to maintain any sense of who he was, he would have to obey the man, as to avoid his punishment.
Max put on his shocked face, hoping that he was convincing enough for the Tormentor, who was still staring expectantly. “Oh no, I now realize the power you have over me, and how you dominate my reality in every way my meager perception can observe and more”.
Dexter was momentarily taken aback by this oddly coherent response, as it was not the cry for mercy he had hoped for, but it was enough to sustain his god-like mentality. “Very well, I shall take your plea into consideration, and allow you to return to your insignificant life.” Dexter hadn’t actually planned to return his plaything to his ordinary life, for Dexter had assumed the man hadn’t taken Dexter seriously. Dexter had graciously tried to enlighten the man on his existence, but he had spat on him in incolence and disbelief. Dexter then tried to offer the man a chance to redeem himself, and he had lied to him of his subservience. “Fool me once, shame on you. But fool me twice, shame on me…” Dexter thought. He would not be fooled a third time. His time on the machine would no longer be in the pursuit of curiosity, but instead in pursuit of vengeance, a personal vendetta against the man who tried to outsmart Dexter Adams.