My eyes opened to a clear blue sky.
My head buzzed slightly from what seemed like a distant hangover, finally casting off its weary shroud from my mind. My body was a surreal vessel; barely mines and uncomfortable to wear. I moved my fingers to check their existence, only to find little comfort in the tingling feeling that had replaced their usual dextrous control.
With an effort I dragged my hands up to feel my face, which had changed to a papery leather texture that made me feel slightly ill. With a grunt I shook myself out of the internal description I was making up; the outcome wasnt good, and didnt seem quite worth the effort.
I lay for a while with my eyes closed. A wind blew softly across my face, carrying with it a strange scent, almost like the sea but with a hint of lavender. The sun, burning somewhere in the sky above was casting off plenty of heat, but when the wind blew it sucked the warmth from my face enough for me to shiver. I lay there until the feeling began to flood back into my limbs and face; the resulting flush of feeling was quite astonishing, as though I had never felt it before. Almost like being reborn whatever that feels like.
I rolled onto my belly, surprised to find my nostrils filling with sand. With a jolt I pushed myself up, catching a vision of warm golden sand before the head rush blanked my sight completely. I fell back again, fainting slightly under the overpowering feeling of the rush, and came to again with a pulsing head ache. I lay there breathing deeply and slowly turned my head around to view the landscape. A sea of deep yellow sand billowed around me for all 360 degrees. Small drifts had built up, creating the impression that I was a fallen giant in some golden valley. Cautiously, I pulled myself together, and rose again to my knees.
The sea of sand stretched for miles, with not one mountain to spoil its beautifully flat horizon. The sun sat high in the sky, giving me the presumption that it was mid day, but wherever it was that I had turned up I had no clue. How did I even turn up here? This, I realised should have been one of my earlier thoughts. I searched my pockets as my eyes stared intently into the distance. I came out with a clipper lighter with very little flint left (enough of it there so that I would have to depress the gas pedal with one hand, whilst rolling the flint wheel with the other to achieve the desired flame) and a small leather pouch containing some foul smelling tobacco and one cigarette paper coloured a horrible brown by the damp tobacco. My mind jumped at the smell of the potential cigarette, and I subconsciously began trying to roll a smoke with my new find. With nothing else in my pockets I sat and smoked the filthy thing in my trembling fingers as I surveyed the landscape. Searching for something different out there in my new world.
Nothing appeared, just more wind blowing sand onto me.
After I had finished my bad excuse for a smoke, I stood and closed my eyes. I tried to listen to my inner self. I could remember reading in fiction books from my childhood that if the hero got lost or whatever, he would just close his eyes and speak with his inner self. The inner self, presumably, would then point him off in the right direction. I had always fancied this, believing myself that the inner self held more secrets than the stars themselves. And now, I reckoned, would be the best incentive for my inner self to start speaking.
I turned in a slow circle, with nothing more going through my head than a vague wondering of what my inner voice would sound like. But maybe that was it. Maybe my inner voice didnt even speak the same language as I did. I remembered reading a book written by a pair of scientists that told me that the outside world was a wildly different place from the one I perceived through my eyes. My eyes, the scientists said, just allowed the light reflected off objects to enter into my brain, which then deciphered it into the code that I had created when I was a few months old. Seeing with another persons eyes, or lenses, would result in a crazed mix of weird and wonderful colors. And that went for the same with hearing. If we were to hear with other peoples ears, all we would get was a load of garbled nonsense. So did that work for my inner voice too? How would I understand its code? Presuming of course that the mystics are right, and my inner self is an ancient entity guiding my body through this existence. But maybe, I thought, my inner self didnt communicate via sound. Perhaps it guided me in a more powerful way than I even knew possible. Haha, you fool, my inner voice said. You are your inner voice. But how could I hope to understand me? And how could I tell if I wasnt just tricking myself?
With a jagged smile I stopped turning and stepped forward. It felt good, so I done it again. I opened my eyes to see the desert again. But it was different. At least I had direction now.
I walked for what seemed like hours, but the landscape remained unchanged. Every half hour, or what I gathered to be a half hour, I would look into the sky, to see the sun in its same position as it first greeted me. It sat there like a burning eye, like a hellish extreme version of Big Brother in a police state society. Monitoring my every move with extreme bias scrutiny. Wrong way, the sun would say.
This is wrong, I thought. My feet were telling me too, as the sand below slipped into my shoes undetected. Like a master ninja it soon filled my shoes without my knowing.
Undeterred, I carried on, knowing that there must be something out there somewhere. My thoughts wandered off on their own again. Poking mild suggestions at the reason why I had ended up in this lonely place on the world. None of them seemed feasible. I was at a party last night. I was on holiday and took some seriously exotic drugs. I was abducted by a team of crazed aliens who liked to dump earthlings into the middle of deserts. I was from Scotland, I had never even seen a desert before today. Except in books. Books. My window into the world it seemed lately. Going out was too much of a hassle; too many people want to kill you because the films on TV make it look cool and hard. I used to laugh when the media would blame a recent horror film for the killings that had been happening at that time. But after a few years, I wasnt so sure if they had got it wrong. Everywhere I went it seemed that people from Movie Land were inhabiting my town. Girls were doing their hair like them, dressing like them (not that its so much of a bad thing, you understand), guys were all immediately from a hood of some sort. Young men with rich parents and bad attitudes, wanting to play at being gangsters. Men who would hang out in huge gangs on a Friday night just to catch the lone drunk walking home from the pub with his chip shop escort and giving him the kicking of his life. The more I looked at it, the more I seen that most aspects of our society were movie driven. I started laughing at myself for being so naïve to believe that most people want to be themselves. Most people do want to be themselves, but it seems to me that they all want to be the same person.
No, books were my way in nowadays. The world seemed safer, yet at the same time, more dangerous in books. People seemed more reasonable and intelligent in books too. You could relate with them. The only way to relate with a real life person is to swear a lot and talk about a sport.
I had been lost in my own thoughts for so long that at first I hadnt even realised that music was playing far off to my right. When I had finally clicked that it wasnt coming from my own internal jukebox, I came to an abrupt halt, my heart hammering in my ears so hard that for a while the tune was lost to me. I calmed myself and listened again. Softly almost hidden in the sound of the gentle wind, I could hear drums and some kind of guitar. I walked in the direction of the music with more urgency than before, adrenaline pumping hard through my body. As I got closer I could hear the low drone of what sounded like a didjeridoo. Voices could also be heard now, a repetitive chant involving around ten people, I thought. Soon I reached a small ridge in the sand, which at first looked like a bump in the geography, but as I crept closer to it, I could see it would drop for a good few feet. The music was strong in the air now, the rhythm of it pounding through my whole body. It was quite good I thought as I sat there listening, too afraid to peer over the edge of the sand. Before long, I soon found myself getting quite into the music, tapping my boot on the soft sand, my heading nodding slightly in time. My vision began to recede as I listened to its lulling rhythm, falling further and further away from me until it was though I was staring down a long tube at the far away world.
Suddenly the blackness around my sight split up into jigsaw pieces, falling apart to reveal a sickly orange colour which hurt my brain to see. My heart jumped into my throat to remind me of my conciousness and I shook my head to dispel the magic of the music. Damn, thats good music, I thought as I lay against the sand ridge, my heart hammering in my chest for the umpteenth time today. My curiousity grew too much for me and I braved a look over the edge. A group of twenty men sat in a circle, a pot sat in the centre of it, on top of a burning fire. A few of the men had instruments, whilst others just joined in on the chanting. All the men wore nothing but a large piece of material draped across their shoulders and tied around at the waist. One of the men sat in the centre of the circle wearing a huge headdress, covered in feathers and such. A huge wolf skin hung off his shoulders with the head still attatched; it was strapped onto the back of his own head by the headdress. Several of the men, I noticed, were doing nothing. They just sat there with their hands on their knees, gazing intently at the licking flames of the fire. They must be tripping out on the music, I thought.
I lay there against the sand watching the scene from my vantage point above. And then the man in the centre suddenly turned and looked up at me, his eyes were black and gone, or as that Pink Floyd song says, black holes in the sky.
Come down from there, he said calmly, motioning me down with his hand. Theres no need to be on the outside He turned away from me again, again putting his attention onto the boiling pot on the fire.
I felt a tad absurd for my position now. I had been caught spying on them and they were non-too fussed about me. I felt a little like a prying child caught by Santa Claus. I looked around the circle for any other recognition of my being there, but all the other men were obsessed with the song. Every now and then, one of the silent men would yell out in a mad tongue, which made the song change tempo, though usually more furious.
At first when I tried to rise, I had difficulty fighting the hypnotic effect of the tune. My mind was trying to relax into my previous state of euphoria, but I pressed it hard with my body to get up and meet these new strangers.
I walked down to the circle and stood outside the circle. The man in the centre locked his black eyes against mines once more. The other men carried on with the song.
You look lost, he said to me. He spoke in an almost whisper, but I could hear it perfectly above the music. He didnt speak like English was his first tongue, but he did sound like he could speak it rather well if he had to. I had no choice but to reply. I didnt think I could have done anything else under the gaze of his dead eyes.
At first I stuttered though, so I cleared my throat to start again.
I dont know. Well, I am lost, but I dont know how I got here. My words hung in the air, probably mocking me for how idiotic they sounded.
The man looked at me again, his face void of any kind of emotion.
You have the look of one who has never opened his eyes here before, he said in his grave whisper. Come, drink from our wisdom. He took a cup out from under his clothing and dipped it into the boiling pot. His hand was completely submerged in the bubbling mix, but he appeared to feel no pain from it. He looked at me again and reached out with the cup towards me, indicating for me to take it. I took it anyway, regardless of the screaming voices in my mind. I had a way of dealing with the bouts of paranoia in my soul. But the ways involved shutting out all negative thoughts and could sometimes prove quite disastrous to others and myself.
Whats in it? I asked, bringing it up to sniff at it. It smelled of strawberries, to my surprise. My mouth was dry from my walk and the hot liquid look and smelled quite refreshing.
It is medicine, medicine for the soul. He smiled slightly as he said it, the skin on his face cracking up with the first sing of emotion I had seen from him. I looked down at the other men who were still quite oblivious to my being there. One of the men, I could see now, was drooling onto his chest, but was still awake enough to yell out the occasional words.
Who are these people? Are they with you? I had held the cup to my mouth in the pretence of going to drink it, but broke it up with my words.
They are now, said the man. The smile fell from his face once more. Will you not join us? Do you not like the music?
It I began, but could not find the right words to finish it. The music was indeed good. Like a crazy lullaby. It. Unsettles me I finished awkwardly.
That is what the medicine is for, the man said understandingly. He nodded his head as if this was indeed the word he expected me to say. Come, drink with us. Chase away the loneliness.
I put the cup to my lips again and sipped gently on it, more sucking it into my mouth in case it burned.
It was good too. It seemed to be connected with the music. Drinking the warm liquid made me feel like the music had noticed me and wanted me to join. The man smiled and spread his arms out.
We have a space prepared for you, he said warmly. Immediately two men shuffled aside, creating space enough for me to sit in. I took another drink, deeper this time, relishing the taste as it flowed through my mouth. And sat down.


The music was loud and hard to recognise. I knew I should recognise it, but I couldnt. It was a mass of guitar drum and organ. The guitar seemed to have no sense of where any of the other instruments where and ploughed on through its own lament without any thought for anything. The organ and drum chased it through the melody backing it up when chasms threatened. I tuned quickly into this imagining myself flying through a tunnel that grew tighter and tighter. The guitar was my soul screaming at its own definite demise.
The room was lit a hideous yellow from the unsheltered light above. It hung in a sorry state of lonliness; a bulb and a wire, no shade for a friend. Faces hung around close to mine. Big,grotesque and grinning. Each cheek on every face was burned red under the skin; each tooth had a yellow glimmer. They spoke in strange language that could seriously be best described as gobble-di-gook. The people in the room occasionally slapped me hard on the back and proudly announced to the room another mix of gibberish. This resulted in hard laughter, more pats on the back. I was thirsty, but the only refreshment these strange people had was a horrible brown fizzy concoction that tasted bitter and left a brown after taste on my tongue. My throat was closing up as quickly as the tunnel in my mind.
The music grew more frantic, and two people towards the back of the room were dancing with each other. Their limbs splayed out in any given direction, knocking photographs off of their mountings on the wall. These people are my friends, I begun to realise. But I dont recognise any of them.
I opened my mouth to say this, so sure that I was just lost for a while and was having a temporary state of amnesia. Or something. The guy next to me started whispering to me in a language I couldnt decipher for the life of me and made me forget what it was I was going to say to him. I tried to tell him this but when I opened my mouth gibberish fell out of it.
At this, everyone in the room burst into hysterical laughing. A girl appeared from the door leading to the hallway and bubbled some noises to the closest person she could find. He whispered something to her and she grew angry. My throat tightened up until I could hardly breathe. I became acutely aware at how uncomfortable I actually felt here, the couch on which I had been sitting on was like a rock. The girl that had entered began shouting at everyone else, before turning her attention to me. At first she was angry and loud, but eventually she sat down on her hunkers and held my hands in hers. Her eyes were wide and insane, her face white. She started making cooing noises at me, repetitive and calming. I had to laugh; it came out of me fresh and pure, like dunking my head in a cool bath of water.
This angered the girl even more and she slapped me across the face, which caused everyone in the room to shut up and stare in my direction. The music was the only thing to be heard in the room, all fourteen pairs of mad eyes looked at me. Again I opened up my mouth to speak to them, only to be dismayed by the unintelligible nonsense that came out instead of my words. The girl looked horrified as I spoke, two of the men standing by the window were laughing into cupped hands. I tried to speak again, to explain my frustration, to explain that I couldnt understand myself. But again, nothing other than the afore mentioned gobble-di-gook emerged. Theyre not insane, I told myself, as I put my hands over my eyes, I am.



Firm hands grabbed my own and yanked them off of my face. The dirty brown faces of the men in the desert looked into mine. They echoed strangely of the worry I had seen in the faces of my friends.
How do you feel now? The eerily familiar voice of the man with the headdress said. Has my medicine opened new questions for your fledgling mind?
I spoke in a croak, not because my throat was dry, but because it was all I could get myself to do.
What I had been meaning to ask more. But this seemed to fit all my questions. When I got down to the bottom of it, this was my question. I had the feeling that I wanted to go home. But at the same time, I had the feeling that I didnt know where or what home was.
You must remember, the man said, at the same time motioning away one of the men from the circle, who stood immediately and scarpered off out of my sight. You must remember, you are not lost, he continued. It is only that which is lost to you.
I looked at him, unable to speak due to the unstoppable rush of answers to unasked questions that were hurtling themselves down the dark chasms of my thought to fill up my mind with their madness. I reeled at the implications I had just discovered.
The other man returned to the circle, carrying with him a brown length of material, similar in look to the garments he wore himself. He stood looking at me in silence. I looked back to the man with the headdress. He held the cup out towards me again.
Drink now, he intoned to me. Drink now, and find your new perception.

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