My eyes jut open and my body gasps for breath but there is none to be had. Instinctively my head wants to follow my ears to the loud cracking, crushing sounds. I can’t move. Staring into the infinite white of my studio ceiling a prisoner in my own body I watch the shapes and shadows. As though in flight, falling from the sky in a crashing plane debris washes over me. It tumbles and turns, bits of plastic, carbon and steel rain down and splash onto the floor. Shattered glass hums in my ears and the dark shapes appear. People of purpose. I am being visited by criminal minds. Dressed in darkness they do not speak, they make a sound but it’s not of this world. Some sort of code. As they chirp, blip and beep it all becomes apparent. I’ve been paralyzed, they have rendered me a spectator. I can’t speak because the fear paralyses my vocal chords. I can feel the sweat puddle around my body as I struggle to power my will, to power my body, to take control of this chaos.
They are looking for something? No… Just destruction, they lay waste to everything in my tiny space of solitude here on planet earth. It all lays tattered, smashed, broken and ground into near dust.
In through the window they came, somehow silently but with hurricane force. I can see the glint of tiny glass crystals pouring scattered rays of light across the room. Clearly shattered with skill, speed and precision.
They are moving something in. I can only see the shapes as they pass over me, blocking out the light. The shapes are passing as though I’m laying on the tracks. Watching a train pass by from the grounds eye view. I can hear them pouring the contents over and over. Clicking, snap, beeping all the while between each other. It sounds like water rushing over the falls, a near deafening sound.
I am surrounded by them, tall and suspicious. No discerning features. A sort of fictional, factual existence.
Leaving one at a time I counted tens of bodies, quickly shrieking by as they exit the same way they entered. They dispatch with such great speed the entire contents of my studio is vacuumed out the window and in tow of their otherworldly charge from this place.
Immediately I can move, I feel the grounding grip slipping from my limbs. Quickly I stand and crash into the wall. I crash over and over, watching myself out of body fumble around the kitchen. Grasping the stove and the counter, the spinning. I vomit over and over, watching myself in past and present fight this strange temporal loop I’ve been caught up in. Like a small fish in a big current. Sloshing end over end until I’m diminished to crawling on my hands and knees. Dragging my pale face over the floor. I want to see it. I want to see what they were doing. What have they left here?
Groping my way to the closet, in a blurry haze I see a document. Carefully folded like a Chinese fan, together it reads “BLOCKADE” and when unraveled reads nonsense. Words mixed and matched from the past, present and future. Continuously shifting, disappearing with a gentle hush and reappearing in random beeps and bops. Never fixed, always fluid.
Laying, slumped against the wall like a wounded soldier I blindly reach my hand into the closet. Grasping for anything, and something is what I find. It is a block, made of something not from this world. There are thousands of them, maybe tens or hundreds of thousands. Standing in the closet, floor to roof unrestrained. They stand in disarray, appearing to be on the edge of pouring out any moment. The blocks don’t fall, it defies the laws of this planet. Gravity should tear them down into a sea of polished shapes on the floor.
I had a dream.