Prelude – The Light Was Mesmeric

A Dark Blue Sky

Prelude – The Light Was Mesmeric

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man
Though my mind could think I still was a madman
I hear the voices when I’m dreaming,
I can hear them say – Kansas, Carry on My Wayward Son

@Saj_balla

Hey @killer_Art19 where r u bro? need to talk!

@killer_Art19

@Saj_balla wifi only here, with @am_Rf_ru will call tonight

@Saj_balla

@killer_art19 @am_RF_ru need ur help, call me asap

Arthur Killaine sat astride the worn leather sofa leg, staring at the screen of his mobile phone. The Wi-Fi strength strong, but as always as soon as he walked into Reese’s apartment he lost all phone signal, which Art put down to steel bars and concrete in the walls. He’d once read an article online explaining how you got these “dead air spaces” in older buildings when the wrong materials were used, and in Reese Finnago’s apartment, all the connectivity had to come from without and routed within.

Cables stretched across the floor; connecting laptops to routers, Televisions to games consoles, all connected to a large cable which Art knew connected directly to the fibre optics in the ground. He never understood how Reese could afford all these things, as Reese had never worked a day in his life. When Art had asked, Reese always replied with “A little work here, a fair word there, it’s amazing what people will give you when they’re not paying attention” and nod at Art, the screen glare reflecting off his glasses so it looks as though his eyes were just another screen.

The buzz of Reece’s phone and beep from his laptops were almost synchronised, and Reece looked down at his phone as he walked back into the room carrying a candle under his arm and a dirty glass half full of water in his other hand.

“That Saj is such a drama queen. I bet he’s crying raghead again,” he scoffed, walking towards the sofa. “Remember what he was like when I called him Slumdog Millionaire as a joke? No sense of humour, the lot of them.”

Art gave a non-committal snort, it could have been of amusement or derision, but other than that he didn’t respond. Sajan Thapa was one of his oldest and closest friends; they’d met in secondary school whilst they were both trying to hide in the school library. Sajan had seen Arthur standing behind a display, and as their eyes met they shared something at that moment that they’d shared all their lives; there are some places we just can’t hide alone. He’d known Reece for only a few days but had learnt a lot in that time. He thought that if he’d have known then what he knew now, not even Sajan Thapa could have found him.

Reece threw his phone down onto the sofa and slammed the glass and candle down on the table unceremoniously. “Right then,” he coughed, barely covering his mouth and spittle flew onto the sofa and into the glass. “Let’s see what you can do here.”

“Yeah yeah, let me see what he wants.” Art was distracted by Sajan‘s tweet. He knew that his friend wasn’t prone to hyperbole or to drama, regardless of what Reece might say. Sajan had never taken to Reece, Reece’s shabby appearance being the first black mark against him and his offhand racism had sealed the deal, and Reece knew it. He was always making little jokes about Saj, but Art never thought it was malicious; Reece was just a product of another time.

“Forget about him Arty, he’s probably accidentally eaten some pork or something!” Reece giggled at his own joke, and as much as Art liked Reece this particular laugh went through him. It was a laugh alien to the man standing in front of him. High pitched and somewhat girlish, to hear it come from a man who looked like was in his mid-forties, large arms covered in patriotic tattoos and imposing 6-foot height always put Arthurs teeth on edge. ‘Giggle’ didn’t cover it; it was more of a titter. “Now, it’s time for the water and flame.”

With a motion of one hand, probably using one of the many pieces of Bluetooth tech littered around the cluttered apartment, all the many screens grew dim. Illuminated only by a gently pulsing blue light emanating from beneath the glass in the table, Reece split his attention between Art and the glass of water.  “No more interruptions,” he whispered, the irregular blue light dancing across his face, making him look a young man, a young man with mirrors instead of eyes. “It’s time I show you exactly what you can do.”

The water shimmered, rays from the cathode screens glancing and refracting in front of him. The noise from the gadgets and machines synchronised and harmonised around him. The light was mesmeric and Art forgot his friend, forgot the urgency of his message and was captivated in the water, in the glass and in the blue…