Episode 11 - Disobedience

So Oracle of Dusk is now on a season hiatus. And nothing feels right anymore, without that story to hide behind. When I could veil myself with narrative layer after layer. And hide from everything I didn’t want--(cut)

I mean...

(Music fades in)

Welcome back. Okay, the Queen is gone. She’s gone. Really gone. Definitely not still lingering about. Even now. (softer) even now.

(Normal volume). But there was a new presence on the Forum. The Watchman, and we just liked him. He was not particularly good at the game, either playing it or figuring out the clues, and in hindsight, I don’t think he understood the Funhouse Hallway at all. But it was still worth it to have him around as something or someone that broke the tension. And there was a lot of tension. Inevitably, there would be. I mean, we were all playing a game that made little sense and had no clear endpoint. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Unless the endpoint was the game completely absorbing us, consuming us of our entire soul and everything that word has come to represent, replacing us with a hollow shell of all we once were. Dramatic, yes, but it did seem like that. Or at least for me.

I hardly ever slept. Ever. Still now, but especially then and for somewhat unrelated reasons. The Funhouse Hallway was not the reason; it just enabled me. I had something to do besides lying in bed, and maybe if I was lying in bed, I could drift off to sleep or that’s what my mother would always tell me. 

And sure, I wanted to sleep, I guess, but I also didn’t because when I did sleep, I would fall into these terrible dreams. They started off in this bright, bright light, as if I had fallen into a lightning bolt, and the hairs on my body would stand upright like they would with electricity, like some force was trying to pull me apart on a molecular level, on the faintest level. But it wasn’t strong enough to fully rip me asunder and could be little more than an annoyance. 

But I was still afraid of it, even if it was seemingly weak. Electricity is what runs the heart, I should remind you. Electricity: this thing that I seemed to be engulfed in. In fact, I could feel the currents running through my body. I could feel the trembling starting in my heart. Like a heart attack but not quite.

It was going to get me regardless. It was going to be fatal regardless, so I had to get out, right? I had to.

(Music fades out and New music fades in)

So I started walking. I started walking and moving. Forward, I thought, but I was never sure. And I felt my body drifting.

Every so often, I thought I caught a glimpse of a face out of the corner of my eye. I thought I could see someone in some sort of surface, whatever was there beside me. Which should have been a thought that got more attention than it actually did. I needed a way out of it. Whatever it was. Desperation would grow, and I could feel myself running. Running and running. But then I found the wall. And in that wall was definitely not a door. Maybe a mirror. Because it was me. My own face. But younger.

(Music cuts)

And more frightened.

(Music gradually fades in)

Aishi and I did not just live on the Forum. It was our preferred place to be, yes, but even digital homes can start to feel constraining after enough time has been spent within their walls. Even digital personas can get claustrophobia. So we would wander off to other message boards or single player games that had multi person interaction functionalities. And then we would just make way too much use of that interaction function, tethering ourselves together when it perhaps was not so fitting.

Oddly enough, though we spent most of our time in mainstream chat rooms. Think AOL. Remember that? And I guess, when you think about the entire premise of our relationship--that the first threads that linked us together were spun on some obscure corner of the internet, the fact that we pulled ourselves up to the more normal side of things is a bit unreal. But I have mentioned email, right? This can’t be that new of an idea to you.

But I guess, by normal, I mean, as normal as it could have possibly been seen in the early 2000s. In the year 2020, meeting people through the internet is just par for the course. I mean, dating apps, hello? Or ride share apps, even better as an example. Because here, you see a stranger on a digital platform, and that’s enough for you. You trust them enough to get in their car. Because they were there with you. And on some level, maybe you can’t even call them a stranger anymore. Or that concept does not have the same bite or power that it used to. It doesn’t dictate our reaction to things anymore. In fact, the idea of a stranger is starting to dissipate into the air, it seems. We see everyone on a familiar digital platform as an extension of our community, and from that commonality, we feel as if we trust them. 

And sure, we might hear about the occasional tragedy or act of violence, but it’s nothing we can’t ignore, is it? Because we have to. Because life moves on. It has to move one, and trust is a part of that, even if there was a reason not to have it, even if we were more consciously aware of the fact that people can lie to us, and that the present truth they offer could be little more than fiction or comparable with fiction. We still have to trust them. Just to keep going.

Truth and fiction can come forth with the same ease and maybe even almost indistinguishable, when they shouldn’t be. You have no ability to distinguish them. Beyond the labels provided to you by the storytelling. It’s not a great system. But what choice do any of us have, sometimes? Or any time?

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

Honestly, Level 2 did not really interest me. Repetition had weakened the appeal, I guess, and I could even get that same line, “You hear the screaming. You should not move.”

I kept getting it, and every time, I obeyed. Every time, I obeyed. But one time, I did not. Or I did not want to. The desire to stray is where all of this began, but there was no option to click. There were no arrows, and there were no other prompts. But in theory, I could, right? I mean, nothing could stop me from clicking things on the internet. Or clicking what I thought were things that maybe were not things. I guess, if there was nothing to click then nothing would happen, right?

I mean, I’m sure there’s a way around it. There will always be some exception to every rule. But things on that website were somewhat basic. The entire internet was more basic back then. So I had reasons to trust that this could be simple. That if there was nothing to click on, nothing would happen. And if there was something to click on, maybe I could find it.

That does not mean I acted on this impulse right away. It did take me a few rounds to work up the courage. 

But then (Music cuts)  I clicked. And the screen flashed red. Then it did not crash. (softly) It didn’t… (normally) I thought it was going to crash. Why didn’t it crash? (emotional) Why couldn’t it have crashed. Why… nn-- (sigh)

(Music fades in)

(Normal but mentally distant) My breath seemed to catch. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs were full and yet could not push out the air. They were stuck. I was trapped. The air in my lungs was trapped. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. 

Once again, as night covered the world around me, I was pulled into another dimension, seeming created by the light coming off of the computer screen onto my face. From it, I was pulled into a different world, away from my usual one and all its problems. In this other world, I was safe. I was transported. I was many things I had always wanted to be. But then the screen flashed red. Then not nothing. It was something, I promise. But I don’t remember what it was. I just remember fear. I was just scared. I was trembling. When I came back to, I was having an anxiety attack of the highest order. And I could not stop it. I couldn’t stop it.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

I think I know why I was drawn to podcasting. It was partially because no one could stop me. More than a little bit, I should clarify. I mean, I want to tell the sort of stories that don’t make a lot of money. Or have not traditionally. And I’m the sort of person that a publisher can’t parade about as a way of drumming up business for a book sale. At the bare minimum, I don’t like public speaking or crowds or talking. I don’t particularly like myself either, but that’s only vaguely related. 

And I have stories to tell. Many, in fact. Probably too many. Regardless of those details, it all fits together in some giant puzzle. To make me someone who creates podcasts.

But that’s all it does. There something inherently limited in that characterization. Because that’s only the writing aspect of my relationship with podcasting. As for listening, well, that’s a lot more simple. I just find comfort in voices. Physical presence can be… unsettling for me. Because I never know what it means or I never know what they mean. I can never tell what it brings. Some people can read body language or posturing or expressions, but alas, I am not one of them. It’s a skill I could have had, once upon a time, but no longer. That was taken from me… You could say. 

But on the other hand, voices, for some reason, I’m not so removed from. I can still find rest and comfort in. I can still trust them. And so there’s podcasting: stories told entirely by sound. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

But back then, there was no sound in my online home. The Forum was not that advanced. Or so I remember? My computer did not have speakers. Nor did I have a use for them. Or a use that wouldn’t come back to haunt me. My domain had to be completely silent. My world was always so quiet. 

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

Okay, I can do this. Screen flashed red. So something happened. I know that much, but I don’t remember what it was. And for some reason, my diary… It just completely trails off after the Queen and Aishi disappeared. It comes back in flashes, and there are pages torn out. So I can’t use it right now. I don’t know how to piece this together. (emotional) I don’t remember what happened after the screen lit up. The game did not crash. I know that because I wanted it to crashed. Whatever happened, I wanted it to be over, so this was something. It was something… Horrible and frightening. 

It left my body trembling and shaking. And I couldn’t breathe. But regaining that critical ability, when I had to be completely silent was hard. I remember that part. Everything had to be quiet. I had to be quiet. But I didn’t know how to catch myself, how to force myself to breathe, silently. 

And I guess that’s why Aishi and their lack of voice worked so well for me. I could not have noise, even if I wanted it. But Aishi had found a way to be there for me, in a silent capacity.

Or they were usually there for me. To help me through moments like that, moments of a silent panic that grows and compounds by its very nature. But on that they weren’t there. They really weren’t. Not on The Forum. Not on any of the other chat rooms or message boards we had frequented together. I couldn’t find them, anywhere. (voice cracking) And I was scared and frightened and alone. But I found the Watchman.

We had invited him onto those spaces, just because he was likeable. We didn’t expect him to be there. We never really expected him to be there. We did not expect him to have any interest in coming along. But he had. From time to time, and when he felt like he was invited. 

(calmer) The Watchman was actually pretty good at discerning when he could or should come and go. His timing was beyond impeccable. So when I was having this meltdown, frantically searching for Aishi, I found him. Of course he was there. I found him just as this seemed to reach that unbearable point. When it actually felt like I was going to die.

(Music fades out)

But that did not mean he knew how to help me. Quite the opposite. 

(New music fades in)

I guess maybe he knew he could not help me. He couldn’t do anything to help me, beyond telling me stories, trying to clear my mind of its baggage as well as he could. And that’s how I found out where the Watch part of his username came from. He came from a long line of watcher-makers it turned out. And that forced me to actually think about where watches and clocks come from. Because it’s something I had never considered.

Sure, they could be mass-produced now, but they weren’t always. All the cogs and gears had to be carefully assembled by hand. And for a while, it was his ancestors that did that assembly for the finest watches. But it wasn’t his career, anymore. There was something unsustainable about it economics-wise, but he still knew how to do it, he had the tools, and the supplies. 

The knowledge was the easy thing to give me. He would tell me about all the mechanisms and how-tos, even those that I did not understand or could not fully envision. If I wanted to listen, he was happy to talk, and I loved listening to him. I loved his tales. I loved this information, even if I could never use it. I did have to agree with him, there was something fascinating and outright beautiful about it. 

So I was hanging onto his every word. Not just that night. But others. Secretly, I need to add. Without Aishi knowing.

And it stayed like that for a while. Until he sent me a watch of my very own: a pocket watch, to clarify. He struggled with the smaller pieces needed for a wrist watch a bit, so this was technically a compromise. 

Or he thought I wanted a wrist watch. That pocket watch was actually the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was golden-esque, maybe even pure gold, with a large face and beautifully painted numbers. I thought it was something you would give kings and queens. It was just so beautiful. It wasn’t a compromise. It was the best gift I had ever been given.

The Watchman told me he had been working on it for quite a while, on and off. It had always been his dream to make a watch for his child, but I’ve mentioned why that could never happen. So there was me, instead. He made a watch for me.

But when I opened up the envelope it came in, even right then at that first moment, while I was still gawking at its beautiful, I almost thought of it as a countdown watch. I did not want to, but I was still ready to swear that it was. Counting down. Down. Down. Down. Down. Down. (softly) To some sort of end.

(Music gradually fades out)

Aishi Online is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, produced, performed, and edited by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please leave a review, tell a friend, or donate to the show’s Ko-Fi account.