Fiction by Straber

Part 1 - Chapters 1-3

Chapter 1

Quiet was the newly born day. The only sound came from the soft footfalls of my bare feet on the cool, crisp, lush grass of the meadow by the stream, which peacefully murmured a sweet “Good morning,” to me, and me alone. All was calm and peaceful. I walked up the gentle slope to the hilltop above the meadow to greet the sun, feeling the cool wind caress my skin, and sat there under the sole, ancient oak tree that stretched its branches toward the warm morning star.

All of a sudden, a siren sounded in the distance, faint, yet persistent. But what road was near this serene place? The oddly buzzing siren drew nearer, sounding louder and clearer by the second. And slowly, agonizingly, my dream world dissipated into the real world, and I awoke to the horrible beeping of my alarm clock. Man, I really need to get a gentle-wake alarm clock, I thought to myself, rubbing my eyes and sitting up slowly in my bed.

Breakfast went as usual: a bowl of cereal, a glass of orange juice, and a quick glance at the comics before a hurried gathering of homework and textbooks; a brisk ten-minute walk to the bus stop followed. I greeted my regular fellow morning bus riders and took an empty seat at the back of the bus. As it trundled along, I dozed as best as I could, awakened every few minutes by the subsequent stops.

Just after the last stop before the twenty-minute uninterrupted tail end of the drive to school, and just as I was trying to fall into a gentle catnap, the bus came to a stop at a spot at which I didn’t think it had ever stopped before. I was curious to know who the final passenger was, for surely we were close to the long stretch of farmland that separated this group of students from the school.

She came up the steps, her face somewhat hidden in the poor light of the pre-dawn October morning. Seemingly unfazed by the quizzical looks on the rest of the students’ faces, the girl strode to the back of the bus, and then surprised me (bringing me out of my stupor) by asking, “May I sit here?” indicating the portion of the two-person seat that was taken up by my backpack.

“Sure,” I said, putting my book bag at my feet. “And good morning.”

“Thanks. My name is April Collins,” she volunteered.

“Hi, April. I’m Gary Buxton,” I replied. A short silence followed, before I continued. “I don’t think I’ve seen you on this bus before.”

“You’re right. I’m new to this area and today is my first day at your school.”

“Oh, okay. Well then, welcome to Oakwood, April.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling brightly.

After chatting with April a bit about her life, my life, and school life, we arrived, stepped off the bus, and made our way to the same homeroom, as our names were fairly close together alphabetically for our year's roster in the small school. On the way into the building, she wondered aloud how her younger brother, Sam, would be taking his first day in a new school; neither she nor her brother had ever switched schools before. I let her know that I didn't have much insight into either issue; I'd never switched schools and am an only child.

After finding adjacent seats in homeroom, she shared with me that she was a bit anxious about learning the ins and outs of the school, but that she wanted to get plugged in, to dive in right away. When she asked me what sorts of clubs and extracurricular activities we had at Oakwood High, I tried my best to recall all the myriad groups and activities we always heard on the morning P.A. news bulletin that followed the Pledge of Allegiance.

April received her new schedule and asked me what I knew about her teachers and what surprises I thought our junior year might hold. After homeroom, we went our separate ways, but I spotted April at the start of lunch and waved her over to the table I often sat at with my friends. Everyone enjoyed hearing about April’s life in the big city, especially Abby, who has always been a city girl at heart, and April seemed to enjoy hearing about what the country life held in store for her outside of our small high school. After lunch, she and I left the group for our art class, taught by the affable Mr. Weston.

Chapter 2

Upon our arrival, I was surprised to find Mr. Weston absent, with a woman having taken his place at the front of the classroom.

“All right, class, settle down, settle down,” said the middle-aged, somewhat plump substitute teacher. “My name is Mrs. Jarvis, that’s 'J-A-R-V-I-S'… Wait… There! … 'S',” she declared, refining her scratchily written name on the chalkboard. “Mr. Weston has left us this enjoyable video to watch about the creative process. It will last the entire period, and there will be a short “knowledge demonstration”, it says here, to follow at the end. SO STAY AWAKE!” she said emphatically in the direction of a groggy-eyed boy in the front row; the other students and I sat up with a jolt, fearing a difficult, abstract quiz worth a lot of points.

Mrs. Jarvis turned off the lights to the classroom, which left the messy, art-project-strewn area where we were sitting dimly lit by the light that filtered through the gaps in the blinds; the streaks of light created an annoying glare on the TV. After she turned on the TV and started the video, Mrs. Jarvis took a very relaxed seat in Mr. Weston’s reclining ergonomic desk chair, and dreamily threw herself deep into what had to be a steamy romance novel.

Contrary to regular experience with classroom media, the video was very fresh, lacking the agonizingly plucky, bizarre, soporific, or otherwise boring music and replacing that typical style with an intriguing melody and soft percussion. It began with a captivating visual display and narration about the “mysteriously simple process of creative thinking and design.” The whole class was impressed, and many surprised murmurs passed between students; it was a rare treat to get to watch such a new, modern video – in any class.

The video interactively taught us how to hone the inventive engines of our creative minds’ eyes by imagining all sorts of things: places, people, sounds, smells, tastes, objects, temperatures – and all very unique, non-standard ideas that challenged our imaginations. But for me, it wasn’t so hard: when the video said for us to picture a lime being sliced up on a cutting board, to hear the chopping sound of the knife, to feel the lime’s juices flowing over our hands and catch its sour smell tickling our noses, I felt like I was there, wherever there was, cutting that lime, smelling it…even tasting it.

When the video told us to pretend we were astronauts on the moon, I could feel the weight of my suit clinging to my body, making movement difficult, even though the gravity allowed me more elongated, light, airy strides. I could hear my heavy breath as I watched the ragged, dusty, crater-filled vista unfold before me through my tinted visor, as well as the scratchy radio transmission from the other astronauts. When we were transported to the rainforest, wow! How can I even describe it? It was simply... amazing. Each time we did this activity, imagining various places and tasks, I felt like I was practically there, as if my world was really changing right before my eyes - in my mind at least.

But then, it wasn’t just a visual wonder…I seriously felt like I was actively receiving those sounds and smells and tastes and touches – on the climb up Mount Everest, for example, I sat in my chair, though not quite aware of it, short of breath and shivering a little under the tingly fur of my parka, feeling the warmth of my breath escaping from my mouth every few seconds. And then, during the last activity that I remember, something incredibly strange happened. Frighteningly strange, actually…

“Now that you’ve practiced generating mental pictures, physical sensations, and smells,” said the narrator, “try to put all of those imaginative processes together with your sense of sound, and transport your mind into a peaceful countryside meadow. While you’re picturing the mountains or valleys, streams or rivers, rocks, trees, grass, and any animals you see, and as you feel the wind against your body and smell the fresh air, listen to your surroundings. Do you hear a gushing stream or a trickling brook? Are there birds singing, falcons screeching, or crows cawing? Is the wind stirring the leaves on the trees? Do you hear the gentle footsteps of a forest creature? As you’re putting all of these sensations together, try not only to sit there and imagine this place, but also see if you can experience all of the sights and sounds and smells. Let your mind convince your body that it is actually somewhere else. Don’t just imagine your creation; live it, too!”

As all of this was being said, I found myself feeling even more and more enchanted by my imagination, for it came very naturally to me to imagine such a place, of which I had often dreamed in my sleep – my perfect quiet spot in the country, my own little world. And now, thanks to the video, I was practically walking through the grassy meadow with the cool grass tickling my toes and the smooth wind gently caressing my face.

I felt like I was in a trance, either from the soft voice of the narrator and the gentle tones of the video, or from the romantic notion of being alone and completely at ease in the cradling arms of nature, but as I became even more aware of the surroundings I was imagining, I started to feel a most excruciating pain…but not from any physical stimulus arousing the nerves in my body. The pangs of pain were in my mind, as if my almost hypnotic imagination was screeching a set of nails on my vivid canvas-like virtual chalkboard.

Sensing the source of the problem, I looked down to my feet and realized that part of my mind still thought I was sitting in the confining discomfort of a school desk. I got up out of the hazy understanding of the chair and stood up. I could almost feel like I was physically in my dream, but I realized that forgetting the desk and classroom wasn't enough. My clothes were clinging to me, struggling to keep me aware of the classroom and blocking my full sensation of the dream world. I stripped off as quickly as I could.

Then, at the instant I let go of my original perception of where I was, where my entire being truly was existing, a new world opened up to me and all of my senses as if I had removed a pair of sunglasses and earplugs, as if I had suddenly been relieved of a terrible sinus infection, and as if I had washed away a terrible aftertaste from my mouth with a clean, refreshing swig of water. Having no clothes on really heightened my physical sensitivity and I was now also able to truly see, hear, smell, and taste in a brand new reality.

Chapter 3

There I was, standing on the grassy surface of a small foothill, with larger hills in the distance, hearing a gurgling stream, seeing luscious trees, and sensing no sign of human civilization in anywhere. A few playful, puffy clouds danced in the sky and the wind ruffled my hair, whispered in the tree-sheltered banks of the stream, and blew the cool grass in flowing waves of green. I heard the soft murmurs of the stream, and that was all. No cars, no teachers, no television, no machines, no technology. Just the quiet sounds of Mother Nature.

Yes, of course I love being out in the natural world, and getting away from it all, and I may have been just as appreciative of my surroundings if they were the slopes of Mt. Everest or the rainforest or the moon, but nevertheless, I was still radically freaked out. There I was, naked, alone, cut off from the world without any means of contacting anyone, not knowing where in the world I was, and, above all, possibly missing a very hefty quiz in art class.

A thousand thoughts flew through my head. Was this even real? Or was I experiencing some seriously terrible state of unconsciousness? Or was I just having a great dream? But I didn’t remember falling asleep during the video. Did anyone see me disappear, if that’s what really happened? Was this some weird phenomenon, or could I do it again? Should I tell my parents, if I ever get back home?

I quickly realized that my peers, and everybody else for that matter, would probably be somewhat suspicious of me and my disappearance, especially if I didn’t come back to retrieve my clothes, since I'd left them behind when I projected my entire self into this majestic countryside. Hopefully, if no one saw me leave, no one would see me appear (completely in the buff!), and quickly get dressed.

Of course, I was planning to try and “imagine” my way back to school solely by referencing the very strange experience I had just had, for the first time ever in my life, but I didn't really have a clear understanding of how I would do it. Oh well, I thought. I’m here in my most peaceful state of mind, in the totally real incarnation of my imagination’s ideal world. What’s to worry about?

I walked over to the stream, dangled my feet over the side of the bank, sat up straight, and started to think about art class. I imagined the taste of the stale air, the smell of art materials in my nose, the warmth of the students’ bodies around me, the cold, clammy chair I was sitting in, the hard, echo-y tile my feet rested on, the sound of the narrator talking during the video, with the smooth, soothing music in the background, and the room as I expected it to look – students, light-filtering blinds, desks, random cabinets and drawings, and everything else.

Exhausting as it was on my mind to do this, I soon had lulled myself into pretending, then sensing, and then actually perceiving that I was there, my eyes open, my back and butt cheeks cold from the chair, and my fears relieved once I could tell that no one had seen me leave, and my nerves relieved that the video still had every student continuing to imagine that countryside with his or her eyes still closed.

Time to get dressed, I said reluctantly, remembering the freedom I had experienced only moments before in my own private world. But after I’d buttoned my jeans, just as I was straightening out my shirt, I heard something that I had hoped I wouldn’t hear.

“Welcome back, Gary,” whispered a female voice from behind me. “Cute butt!”

“April!” I exclaimed, turning around, surprised, frightened, and embarrassed all at once.

“Don’t worry, hot stuff, I didn’t see much,” she said, getting up from her seat as the bell rang. Mrs. Jarvis turned on the lights, stopped the video, and woke up a few of the totally zonked out students. (The quiz turned out to be of the take-home variety.) “See you later, Mr. Invisible,” April said slyly, strolling out of class, with me dashing right after her.

I cornered April on her way to her locker, and begged her not to tell anyone about what she had seen.

“Don’t worry, bud. Your secret’s safe with me… for now,” she added coyly. “But what exactly happened with you? Where did you go? I mean, you just –”

“Disappeared. I know. But I can only tell you if you swear never to tell this to another soul. Who knows what could happen to me if anyone else were to find out!”

“Okay. I understand: never to another soul,” she said solemnly.

“Let me tell you everything,” I said, excited but apprehensive, too.

[Home] [My Friends' Writings] [Previous] [Next]