

I can tell you, my day started as any other. Coffee and cigarette, shower, shave.. Even with the enhanced memory, I recall absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Although, if there's one thing I learned over the past months, it's that nothing's as small and insignificant as I like to think it is.

I don't remember why I decided to wear my blue T-shirt over my grey one. I had only the two T-shirts to choose from that morning; it had been over a week since I had done any laundry; it was a Sunday. I do recall the blue T-shirt was beneath the grey one in the drawer, so I must have made a conscious choice on the matter on some level. But then why did I choose the blue t-shirt ? I don't know. It probably went down to a split-second decision , if you ca n even call it that . A subtle flash of influence t hat somehow managed to sway my signature within the pile of mental/physical contracts dictat ing the direction of my morning . I t covered it's tracks well.

I remember feeling a chill in the air when I got out of the shower so I chose jeans instead of shorts.

Nothing of interest on the morning news: Something about someone or some place doing something or not enough. Either way, I was preoccupied in the empty pantry.

I grabbed an apple and a backpack on my way out.

The first thing even t ful th at morning, was when I nearly locked myself out of the house without my keys. A tight squeeze through the bathroom window was averted at the latch's final millimeter, in response to a silent alarm blaring desperately in my head.

I remember accepting it was going to be a hot spring day after all. The sun was beating down on me with almost midday intensity and it was barely nine.

Taking a big bite out of my apple with the sun's glare in my eyes, I started the five minute walk down to the supermarket; briefly making a mental list of the vital items to include in my weekly groceries.

I remember feeling good to be outside. I remember feeling rather pleased I hadn’t slept in. Ha!



All the world seemed to be mowing its lawns. I inhaled a head-full of the gorgeous perfume a s memories raided my head. I surrendered to the nostalgia and it set me on a quick pace with a purpose. I don't remember anything else of the quick walk except blurry surroundings; details lost as the colours of things mix and stretch outside forgotten lines.

I dropped from my warp and entered the intrusively-lit reality of the supermarket. I hurriedly grabbed an array of fruit and vegetables with no real intent on including them in any particular meal, only to have the options there.

A cheap cut of beef and a big pack of chicken drumsticks that would accompany most of my standard meals.

A half a dozen cans of baked-beans that saw me saving 30 cents each.. Four cans of fruit-salad.

I was already building up quite a substantial weight to carry home but assured myself optimistically that my backpack would easily carry the bulk of the items.

Sultana Bran. Milk. A loaf of bread – wholemeal was decided on after much deliberation.

A jar of peanut butter – crunchy.

The treasure trove of biscuits saw me scratching my head. I imagined biting into each one of my favourites and decided that Kingstons would provide me with the shortest path to bliss. The thought of sugar made me thirsty, so I picked up two big bottles of water, expecting to drink most of one on the way home to lessen the burden of their weight.

I chatted with the checkout operator about the beautiful day and she mentioned that rain was forecast.

I said something about spring and unpredictable weather.

Barely out of sight of the supermarket, the groceries were already making trouble. The cans were knocking my left shin-bone with every step forcing me to lift my arm away from my body.

The sun was taking its toll. My shoulder muscles had decided my shin was a being less deserving of comfort. Intense focus was required to disagree; for the sake of my lightly armored shin. I found the process of fighting the urge to give up a form of meditation. I toyed with my physical limits. I thought of kung-fu training scenes; climbing countless ancient-stairs, burdened with buckets of water, forbidden to spill a drop.

I remember being distracted as I was crossing the over-pass. I remember seeing a kid tagging on the wall of the building adjacent.

BEHIND EVERY GREAT HERO THERE'S A HEROIN.

I thought it rather profound for a teenager. I considered whether or not he had made it up, and tried to remember where I had heard it before.

More meditation, and then the cross-roads; the fork in the road that decides my home straight.

To the left, a walk in the park with a steep hill to finish. To the right, a busy stretch of road with no appeal except I avoid a hill.

Having had enough exhaust fumes for one morning, and thinking again of kung-fu training, I chose the former.

That was it. That was all; just fleeting thoughts and my life was changed forever. Surely a dream couldn't force this amount of change on a person. A dream couldn't pull off a hoax this big.

I don’t remember feeling anything strange or out of place as I entered the park. It was empty, which wasn't any cause for alarm as it's a small, out of the way park; you may live in the area your entire life and not ever realise it exists.

I was walking the shortest route through; a straight line toward the exit and the hill.

When I approached the center of the park and a shadow came over me, I remember that clearly; a coldness quite distinct from the heat of the day I was suffering through only moments before. It was enough of a contrast to stop me dead in my tracks.

I was in a shadow, but what puzzled me was that the grass in front of me was still glistening in bright sunlight.

I looked up to see the rain-clouds the checkout operator had warned me about. There were no clouds. In fact, I could see the sun. I could stare at it directly, without squinting at all, as if I was seeing it through a pair of dark sunglasses or behind a thin layer of cloud.

I thought immediately of dread, the apocalypse, I remember the image of a horse riding trumpeter signaling the end of the world was conjured up in my reasoning. I tried to think of some astronomical reason, but I was cruelly deprived of any explanation.

I searched for someone to explain the strange eclipse, but the park was empty. I looked back up into the glare-free sky for more clues; fighting the impulse to run.

I noticed what seemed to be a tiny black speck in the sky, next to the sun. It grew in size with a black twinkle. A black star.

I frantically scanned the park again, desperate for a companion to marvel with.

I remember the frustration of accepting that I was going to have to figure this out on my own.

When I looked up again, the black star simply exploded, with a silent, inky-black blast that consumed the sky and everything around me in an instant; the park and surrounding trees were gone, the sound of traffic and birds too. All I could hear was the sharp gasps of my shock and fright.

There was a rush of gravity. A pull on my being from the left and then from the right. I was pulled up and down and back and forth violently, I thought it was trying to tear me apart. The pushing and pulling sent me into a spin of sorts. I remember my groceries spinning with me, I held onto them tightly. I could feel their weight, and I could hear the plastic rustling, in what I can only describe as electric wind; the static that floats on the surface charged party-balloon but in the amplified form of a constant gust.

I remember the spinning sensation eventually stopped, but the electrostatic wind remained. I was blind until I found a pin-prick of light above me. It was tiny at first but as my focus sharpened it grew enormously bright next to the black emptiness. Suddenly there was no time. Seconds or years passed, I can't decide; my concept of time was castaway to a boundless ocean of fear and was lost to the infinite depths of complete and utter confusion.

I remember the feeling of being singled out and shaken awake, as if a search-light had found me floating in the final stages of hypothermia. I cowered into a defensive ball, wore my groceries as armor and squeeze my eyes tightly shut.

Somehow I could still see the light, as if it penetrated my eye lids completely. No matter where I looked the view remained the same.

I opened my eyes, instinctively squinting though it made no difference.

I am dead - I accepted as I stared into the light without any care of blindness.

I felt the weight of the groceries. I was clinging to them desperately as if they might lead me back to the park somehow. I remember, a small piece of reason reminded me I wasn't dead; you don't take groceries into the afterlife with you - it said.

The light flickered several times and then shrank back to its pin-prick size and out of sight. I almost cried out for it to come back the darkness was so cold, but I didn't have to. Without warning the blackness before me went supernova with colour, followed by an electrostatic hurricane-wind that blew my groceries back behind me. My arms followed after them. I let out a cry from the depths of me as an answer. The sum total of my life experience in one soul exploding scream.

As my lungs emptied the colours retreated to a black and purple haze. The wind was gone. Wide-eyed and panting, I had the immediate sense I was somewhere different to the emptiness of the void. Grey and fuzzy details quickly emerged from the purple. The sound of my overloading heart and panic driven breaths wasn't as loud in my ears as before. I began to hear small sounds around me.

“Hello?” I tried to say, but all that came out was emotion.

I was pumping fear and adrenalin a hundred beats per second.

Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I realised I still had hands. I was still clutching my groceries. I wasn't dead!

I began a series of reality checks.

My vision was slowly returning. The purple was the intense light burned into the back of my eyes I realise now. It continued to fade and I saw bare tree branches against the sky around me.

My reality checks led me to my feet, where I became conscious of the ground on which I stood; it was a fine sand or silt I decided as I dug the toe of my shoe into the ground. I took a slow deep breath and stretched my eyes.

I was somewhere, outside. It was night. The sky was a dark blue. Moonlight was striking the tops of the leafless trees, but my immediate surroundings were in darkness.

"Is anybody there?" I begged in a quiet voice.

At that moment I discovered a sound that made me hold my breath. It was a beat; something rhythmic. It took me a split second to realise that the delicate sound was slow and cautious footsteps approaching on soft sand behind me.

With a shot of adrenalin I spun around to see a dark figure crouched not five meters away. It immediately let out a battle cry, arm raised high; a slither of metal reflected the moonlight.

"No! Go away!" I screamed back, as I threw my groceries at it in fright.

It charged, breaking through the flying groceries, driving the blade down upon me.

Somehow I caught its arm and we wrestled to the ground.

I had never been in a fight before. Something primal took over. Kicking and thrashing about and fighting for domination, we buried ourselves in the sand. We rolled over several times until I came up on top and had him pinned.

We were equally matched in strength and weight, but I could feel him tiring.

Every part of his being was engaged in one last effort to roll me over and push the blade at my throat.

I gave one last push at him, released my grip on his arm and rolled over quickly, and onto my feet.

He scrambled away and onto one knee, still clutching the blade.

“Why are you doing this!” I screamed, spluttering, neck deep in adrenalin.

There was no answer, just laboured breathing.

I realised the figure was wearing a mask of some kind, it was too dark to define.

"Who are you? What did I do?" I pleaded.

Again, there was no response, except the figure started to slowly move sideways.

"No, stop! I didn't do anything!" I screamed as we circled each other.

My right foot found a half buried can of baked-beans that made me stop. At what seemed that very moment, the attacker coiled up his might and sprang a killing thrust.

I crouched, barely ducking the blade, as I faithfully found the can at my side. With all my strength I slammed it longways into the side of his head while his failed thrust was following through. He collapsed with a moan into a contorted heap in the sand.

I threw the can at him, not yet convinced it was over, and gave out a long frustrated scream. A scream that pleaded to whoever was responsible to let it be over!

My adrenalin was finally spent. I dropped to my knees and went limp.

I looked at the figure on the ground in front of me. I wiped my eyes with dusty hands and saw that I had knocked his mask off. I couldn't make out his face in the dark, in desperation for answers I crawled closer for a better look.

I remembered my cell phone. I quickly pulled it out of my back pocket and used the light to look behind me. Sand and trees. What looked to be trees anyway; like trees after a bushfire I thought.

I quickly surveyed my surroundings with frantic arcs of light and found no immediate threats. I then directed the light to the ground before me to assess the state of my attacker.

Such complete and utter shock came over me when I saw his face, I was thrown backwards a manner of meters. Sprawled out on my back in the dust, I kicked violently at the ground and clawed away, wild with shock. The world was spinning drunkenly, I was dry-retching uncontrollably.

The face I saw, it was me!

I must have blacked out. When I regained a sense of stability, if you could call it that, the shock was so disorientating that I was sick with dizziness.

I shined my cellphone at him again, unable to accept what I had seen. He was wearing my jeans, and my shoes.

“What is this?!” I screamed out.

I was overwhelmed with anger. Someone was messing with me, somehow someone was responsible for this cruel prank I thought. And when I found out who..

A small sound in the trees made me scurry to my feet in terror. I shined the phone at the trees and waited, watching the light bouncing off the trees in sync with my shaking body. I saw movement.

“Who's out there?” I yelled in a tiny voice. "I didn't do anything! Please, tell me what the hell is going on! I did nothing wrong!”

“Save the battery!” A strangely familiar voice yelled back.

I knew that voice.

“Who is that?” I begged.

“You!” The voice replied jokingly as he came into view. It was me. It was me!

“What is this?” I demanded, trying to sound threatening; it came out wobbly and revealed me as drained and easy prey.

“Just try and calm down. I know, I know; this is freaking crazy right? Just relax, I'm not going to hurt you.” He said calmly, which intensified my confusion.

I was close to blacking out again. With all my remaining reserves I stood up tall and readied myself for another fight.

He slowly approached the unconscious, dust-covered body on the ground and knelt down to check his pulse. With a sigh, he found the attacker was merely unconscious.

"Who is that, who is he?" I asked with slightly more volume.

After a brief search he found the attackers blade in the sand and crouched down again. He looked away, and with one quick movement cut the man's throat.

“What are you doing?!” I yelled in horror and drunkenly stumbled backwards until my back was against one of the trees. I grabbed hold of it as I did my exp loding mind.

He wiped the blade off on the underside of his shoe, and slipped it into his pocket as the body on the ground bled-out convulsively.

“I'm doing only what's necessary.” He replied, almost to himself, undisturbed by the bloody murder before him.

He then reached down and carelessly st ripped th e dead man of his shoe laces , belt an d phone; took the arm of the dying body, and dragged it into the trees.

I thought to take this chance to run. But run where? This must be a nightmare I thought, there was no other explanation for this horrible absurdity.

He was looking for something; scanning the ground and straining his eyes. He reached into his back pocket, flashed his cellphone light quickly in a circle around him and found what he was looking for. A shallow, freshly dug grave.

He dragged the body into the hole and, with the side of his foot, maneuvered the dirt-pile next to it with a dozen or so careless kicks to cover the body.

“Help me gather this food.” He demanded, as he returned to the clearing.

I just stood there. I could only shake my head in disbelief as I watched myself pick up and bag my groceries.

“Common, we have to get moving. Are you injured?” He asked.

I didn't answer.

"Hey, are you injured?" He asked again in a louder voice.

“No.” I managed to shake out.

“Alright then. Follow me.”

There was no way in hell I was going to follow him; I had just fought myself, watch myself cut my throat and bury me. All I wanted to do was wake up.

“No! Please, tell me what's going on! Am I dead?” I blurted out. "Is this a dream?"

The act of talking to myself was catastrophic. My sense of reality was quickly crumbling to ruin.

“You're not dead” He replied as if sick of answering the question. “If you were, you'd be in that grave over there.”

He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.

“To be honest, you know about as much as I do," he admitted, "except, I've been here longer. So trust me when I say we have to get moving. The sunlight here will kill you, and it'll be sunrise before you know it, trust me."

"Where..?" I began to stutter.

"We don't know." He answered, anticipating the question. "But we know its not Earth, that's for sure.”

I swallowed the urge to be sick again and slowly found my words.

“What do you mean, we? How many of you are there?”

“By we I mean you and I, and the other eight.” He said rather sternly. "First things first, don't make the mistake of thinking you're the only real you and that we're your clones or anything like that OK? Because we all came in on the same boat. The black star in the park.”

He then looked up at the sky. It was getting lighter.

“I know, because it was me in your place not so long ago.. We really have to get moving. Look, it's quite simple; if you want to stay alive, you'll come with me to the shelter." He said impatiently.

He waited a second for me to decide; I was frozen.

"Fine. You can dig yourself a hole to hide in. See if I care.” He said walking away.

“How do I get back home?” I pleaded in a tiny voice.

“That's what we're trying to figure out..” He called back without stopping.

I decided to follow, but there was hardly a choice - It was either follow or be left alone in the nightmare. I didn't really believe that he was actually me; even as he was speaking, in the twitching light of my cell-phone, I didn't believe it, I couldn't. It was the same as in any nightmare, no matter how disturbing or ridiculous, there comes the point when you just go with it. You don't have to believe it, you just follow. I felt like I was just along for the ride.

I stumbled after the murdering double. Drunk with delirium.





The walk to the shelter was a blur of exhaustion. I remember watching the backs of my shoes as he led the way up and down grey sand dunes.

The sky was growing increasingly lighter.

The trees remained the same. Strange shaped, burnt trees.

I didn't ask any more questions. Nothing was said but urgent clapping to double my efforts. I new the importance of getting to the shelter in the pace that was set for me, but I had to concentrate on every step; I was almost completely drained of all motor skills and the soft sand was crippling.

“We're here.” I heard finally, in the distant reaches of my hearing.

I took my eyes off the backs of his shoes. My shoes. There was a soft glow on the horizon.

He ducked down in front of me, revealing the dome-like shingle roof before me, made entirely from hundreds of flattened tin-cans.

A bottle of water was offered to me out of the entrance. I wondered how I could be so thirsty given this was only a dream, my mouth was suddenly lined with hot sandpaper.

I took the bottle of water and drank eagerly. The sensation of the water running down my throat filled me with an intense sense of reality that reacted with the hope I was dreaming like a poison. I was so certain I was dreaming; my sanity depended on it. The two factors began a fierce tug of war in my mind until my eyes rolled back into my head and I collapsed into the dark and comforting confines of unconsciousness.

“Did he take a blow to the head?” I awoke to someone asking.

Such a sense of relief washed over me that I sat up hurriedly with what could have been a smile on my face, expecting to see the Good Samaritans that must have found me, lying mugged and beaten in the middle of the park.

When my focus sharpened my terror returned ten fold. There were countless faces all looking down at me, and they all had my face. Some cleaner and less bearded than others, but mine nonetheless.

“No! No! You're not real!” I shouted.

I Pushed the faces away and kicked wildly.

“Calm down! Calm down!” One of them said, pinning me to the ground.

“Calm down!” He shouted. “The sooner you accept that this is all real the better off you'll be, you hear me?”

I tried to struggle out of his hold but it was useless. I was a physical wreck.

“Why are you doing this!” I screamed.

Someone then gave me a sharp slap to the side of my face while another splashed water on me from a bottle. I coughed and sputtered. He slapped me again.

“You just take a moment to pinch yourself and then we can get down to telling you what we know OK?” He yelled over my screaming.

They released me and I crawled backwards until I met the sand wall of the shelter, hyperventilating.

Some of the doubles were murmuring to each other, oblivious to my plight. A couple were sorting through my groceries at the far end of the shelter. The others sat looking down at the sandy floor or into nowhere with vacant, patient stares.

"This is insane!" I screamed.

There was no response aside from a few glances in my direction.

"Please, I just want to go home.." I sobbed.

"We are all in this together, you realise?" One of them said sincerely, "We all just want to go home."

"You can't expect to have any questions answered if you keep losing your shit. Its tough, I know. But sooner or later you'll accept that this is real, its just a matter of time.. 75 is right, the sooner the better, believe me." One of them said.

I rubbed my face, in efforts to wake myself up. It didn't work.

"Just tell me how to get home. That's all I care about.." I said through my hands.

"Alright, good." Said the one who seemed to be doing most of the talking. "But you need to know a few things before we can begin speculating on ways home.."

I nodded in weary submission.

“Alright, Good. Well, in-case you don’t recognise me,” He joked, almost looking around for laughs, “I'm the one who brought you here. You can call me 63."

He then went around the shelter and introduced everyone by number.

“This is 67, 101, 100, 109, 108, 75, 103 and 96." He said pointing to each.

Some nodded as they were introduced, others continued to stare blankly at the ground.

"You are 112; the one hundred and twelfth to appear on this god-forsaken world since the establishment of The Order.” He declared, gesturing at me with both hands.

I didn't understand. I opened my mouth in protest but he continued on.

“We believe we all come from different dimensions - parallel dimensions, OK? Or, parallel universes, whatever you want to call it. I know, it sounds nuts. But, well.. look around you; apparently nothing's off the table.”

I tried to speak again but was cut off.

“Do you remember the morning before you left the house? Do you remember the walk, and the supermarket? Remember the walk home? The park? Well, so does everybody else here. We were all subject to the same events of that morning. We all nearly locked ourselves out of the house. We all smelled the freshly cut lawns. We all were so glad we didn't sleep in that morning."

He trailed off to collect his thoughts.

"Now, some of the choices we made that morning and some of the events we witnessed, they obviously had an impact on the direction of our day. But, some imposed a change that was not so significant, not yet anyway. For instance, you can see that almost half the people here chose blue t-shirts and the other half chose grey. You chose wholemeal bread and I myself chose white. But nobody, nobody here anyway, decided to take the busy road home instead of walking through the park. That's what's ultimately led us here I believe."

He paused, as if I had a question. I had nothing.

"If you talk with anyone of us here long enough," he continued, "you will find at least one small difference in your days. Whether it was a different thought about the tagger by the overpass, or say if you were to compare the number and even shape of the sultanas in your sultana bran with someone else, the number and shape might differ by only one or two sultanas amazingly enough, it's unbelievable. But, in the end, it comes down to the crossroads. If only we weren't thinking kung-fu, we wouldn't be here." He laughed at the idea. "I'm only brushing the surface, believe me, we've had a lot of time on our hands to think this through. The evidence is stacking up to a Multi-universe Theory. And we're the proof.”

I considered what he was saying for a short moment of clarity before shaking it off as words of an insane person, the kind of words you would expect from yourself in a dream.

“You said I was the one hundred and twelfth. Where are the others?”

He glanced at those beside him.

“They're dead.” He replied bluntly.

I remembered the dead and buried double that attacked me in the clearing.

“But, you need to realise.." he tried to explain as I made a loud moan of despair, "..every single night somebody appears in that clearing. Clutching their groceries and screaming their heads off. Every night. The order was created to put a stop to brutal, thoughtless murder that was running rampant in the dark.. The groceries you brought with you, that's all we have to eat today between ten of us you realise."

He reconsidered his approach.

"Imagine if you can, the day this all started, when there was only one of us.. with a weeks worth of groceries, OK? Then say a week had gone by; in the grocery bags of the next to appear, there would have been enough food and water for the eight people maybe, assuming they were co-operating with each other, but what happened the next day? - When there was another person to feed. And then what do you think happened, a week after that, when there was seven more people to feed? The trees were plagued with desperate thirst and hunger, and murder." He said with a shudder. "We can estimate by the number of tin cans we've found around the place, that hundreds, maybe even thousands of us died before the order was established. Each death laced with hunger, thirst and fear. You couldn't imagine the madness and chaos." He said, shaking the thought from his mind.

"The order," he continued quickly, "the order sought to put a stop to the chaos. To put a stop to the aimless wandering through the dark and dead trees. It allows only ten of us to be here at any given time, just as many as the groceries can sustain. We each take turns going to the clearing every night, to challenge the new arrival for our place in the order. It was 82's turn last night, and fortunate for you, you came out on top; your reward was a place in the order, to learn what we've learned, to pass on that knowledge if we're killed, to sustain our exploration of this mess we've found ourselves in, to give us the opportunity to try and figure this all out, to explore and map our surroundings, to..”

“Stop. Stop.” I begged, pulling at my hair, "What you're saying, is that I'm stuck here! That there's no way home! That's all your really saying isn't it?"

"We.." He began, but I cut him off.

"This hell-planet, this hell with a sun so hot we cant go outside.. Where we have to kill ourselves at night.. We're on another planet! How am I going to get home? You can't build a spaceship to fly us home can you? What am I doing here?” I begged, exhausted and frustrated beyond sanity.

"What's the point of your order?" I screamed.

"Calm down.." The double repeated.

"..why shouldn't I just kill myself and see if it wakes me up? That'll be a win-win as far as I can see.'Cause what's the point in prolonging this hell. What's the point if there's no way home!"

At that 63 looked straight at me for a long moment, waiting

patiently for me to settle.

“Well, that's just it 112.” He said finally. “The

point. The point is, we are being watched.”

© 2012 T H Campbell "All Rights Reserved"