A trickle of fear winds it’s way through John’s fever haze and follows him to the feral section of his brain.
Sitting on a hard rock in a large, empty paddock. The sky is red and the clouds are moving and reforming at an alarming speed. A rose cloud, petals breathing, is smashed apart by an insect cloud. Smoke trickles from the ground in streams, grid locked in both directions. No, not smoke. Vapor. white and wet. The horizon is blotted with mountains. The mountains move and re-shape as the clouds do with the rumble of rocks grinding against each other. Like thunder, only sharper. Faint alarm bells ring. A black mountain with a red tip changes into the shape of a woman’s head, the sound of gears malfunctioning. It rises up to eye level, slowly mouths nonsense words and disintegrates outwards violently. John turns his back and covers his face, but feels nothing hit his body.
A deep blue colour infuses everything in the Big Room. There is a large, curved widescreen TV. It switches on. A man’s face appears, huge teeth displayed in a gruesome grin. He looks middle aged but ageless, like infinite youth caricatured. “John. John 3:16! Ha ha argh” the voice coughs and splutters, spits a giant red loogie out of the TV screen and onto the couch. It first sizzles, then resolves itself into a pile of swarming cockroaches, the small European kind, that scutter off into the room. “John, you are required by the Honey Man for a position in the field.” As the face says Honey Man, three voices discord with one another. “The Honey Man needs you for a job. You need not know the finer details yet, but it concerns this woman.” The head on the screen dissolves into a woman’s face, in her early thirties. The face of the mutating rock. She is standing in a hospital waiting area, thumbing through her purse. “Maybe she needs some slicing and dicing, some capering and rapering, some kicking and dicking.” The face in the TV laughs a haggard laugh, snorting back into his throat. “I know not what the Honey Man desires for her or for you.”
“How will I know what I’m suppose to do? What the fuck is even going on here?” Irritated by all this surreal grossness. “YOU ARE NOT TO QUESTION THE HONEY MAN, YOU ARE NOT TO QUESTION ME!!!” The face screams and the screen strobes. Teeth rattle. “You will know what is expected of you when the expectations are expected. Do not leave the country.” The TV blinks off. The air starts to thicken, breathing becomes difficult. It reaches a gas state, panic starts to spiral. Breathing is no longer possible, bees crunch in his teeth. The room melts to liquid.
John wakes in his hospital room coughing uncontrollably.
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