29 January 2012

Chapter 63 - For Better or Worse - Reborn

I come to, floating serenely outside my body, spinning slowly in the aftermath of a brutal expulsion. Yet I remain tethered to my sack of meat that the Creeps are dropping roughly to the ground.
Well! Ummm. Jesus Christ! Watching myself be mishandled is pretty trippy.
I need more time to reflect. After all, I’ve fought off several mental attacks by smart bugs, shunned Death, and I’m astral travelling!
Bug-eyed, I watch my body below. It is convulsing in shock, brain damaged and dying, messily. My red face thrusts upwards in a rictus of a silent scream, and more Creeps close in to perform the butchery ordered. Their blank glances at my misbehaving carcass are telling.
The recently experienced epiphany has effectively reversed my suicidal tendencies, perhaps forever. I’ve seen that tedious place of endless waiting where I may only have my thoughts for company. Energised by cosmic powers I choose this worldly existence, with all its faults, over that particular Hell. Even though that old body down there is wrung out, and its brain has some serious issues, anything is better than spending infinity with myself.
This ghostly outline I inhabit has no weight or propulsion. I try breast-stroking spastically and move downwards, towards myself, slowly. Redoubling these efforts does not double my speed. I stop to wonder at the tether that attaches me to the physical body. Touching it instantly sucks me through the top of my head where I am slammed inwards and home.
This transition is disorientating to say the least. A bit like opening a sound-proofed door into a raging party of paint-gun warriors who are firing endless rounds at me. A window to The Void has been left open, and the energy washing through is remaking my essence with wild abandonment. Cold fires of creation light my upper reaches, and streams of raw emotion flush ragged wounds clean.
I have re-entered myself at the peak of these reparations. I have dived into a mind-orgasm where the contractions consume me with ecstasies that refuses to peak. I revel in the festivities and spin amongst chaos. It is wonderful and frightening and I’m too late to subdue an ever-building climax.
Before I can start to make sense of this beautiful mess, I am distracted by wondrous and terrible mechanisms playing with the filaments of my brain. The winds of my changes crack and twang each mismatched connection and retro-fits damage with new designs. Vast and ponderous breakaways take place, juddering and falling into my depths. Dead, grey sections grow pink and pump with life. Neurons, reborn, dock at stations never before used. Thought traffic resumes into a new part of town, and fresh nerves alight to high-voltage currents.
I slam this secret part of my mind closed, and all forces, both Parasite harm and Creation’s enthused meddling, are shut out, instantly becalming me on a sea of wounded nerve endings. The detritus of riotous celebration that swirl around me flutter away in the sudden stillness to find suitable roosting places. Whatever is happening is totally out of my control, and the implications are quietly terrifying.
Awed at the changes occurring within, I blink open a brand-new mind’s eye. Its clearest of gazes sees the world as never before revealed. I push outward, leaving my raging head, and brood over the dark fog of the Parasites’ mind-net above me, held at bay by the invisible pressure of my thought alone.
The Creeps inside this small igloo of clear air have stalled. Their desires to undo my flesh and bones are defused. I sense an uninterrupted broadcast from their masters is required for them to resume, and I experiment with this assertion. By elastically controlling my protective barrier, I expose and reisolating the Creeps, watching their reactivation and disconnections carefully. Their limbs jerk and relax as if a drunken puppeteer is testing their strings, then falter and run down like confused clocks with jammed cogs.
When my experimentation tires me I stop, leaving my little group of admirers included within the cocoon while I consider my position.
I sink back into my flesh and prod at some of the drug saturated workings. Waking myself is hard work until I work the release of my stomach’s deadly contents. Aggravated vomiting results, and I copiously splatter the Hosts feet that surround my head.
Opening my eyes begins a path to forgetfulness, where the depths of my latest experiences are made shallow, protecting my over-awed mind. I weep at this loss as it dissipates and then do not know why it is so saddening. My brain accepts the gradual dimming with thanks.