Thursday 4th July 20–

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Are You Prepared For The Transcension?

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All over the world, people are preparing for the most important event the world has seen since the dawn of time. This guide will show you all the preparations you must make in order to guarantee your future on planet Earth.

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  CLICK HERE  

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Do you ever get the feeling that you’re being watched? Of course, you do. Everyone has that feeling at some point in their life. That fizzing storm bottled in your chest, tension coiled in every fibre of your muscles and the primal impulse to whirl around and lock eyes with whatever’s watching you, just so you can squint your eyes at it and telepathically say, “Hey, stop watching me, it’s creepy, you know?!” Only, there’s never anything there. Every time your eyes scan around, there’s no ghostly presence piercing your soul with its malevolent gaze. It’s just your overstimulated mind being a jerk and testing out your fight or flight mechanisms. 

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It’s been happening to me a lot lately – feeling that something is there with me. I’ve been blaming it on stress, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone is there just behind me. I can feel the tendrils of their breath on my neck, the phantom pressure of their hand hovering right above my shoulder, the seeping warmth of their body just inches away from mine. 

 

I feel… burdened. 

 

Heavy. 

 

Like lead.

 

“Hey there, how can I help?” Jeez, that’s a loaded question! No, stop. Now’s not the time for jokes.

 

“Hi, yeah. My laptop. It randomly turns off and has been getting super hot.”

 

“Got it. I can take a look at it this morning. Give me thirty minutes, okay?”

 

I give the computer repair technician a whisper of a nod and gingerly take a seat on the chapped and crusted leather sofa that should have been tossed out years ago. And there it is, a flutter of fear coursing through my synapses saying: “It’s behind you” with absolutely none of the good humour of a pantomime. It’s just me and techy, no one else. I open my copy of The Yellow Wallpaper to help silence my brain.

 

“You’ve got a mean-looking bit of malware that’s buried itself into your laptop’s hardware. I can get it cleaned up, no problem. It’ll take a couple of hours, so I can call you when it’s ready to pick up.”

 

“I’ll just wait here.”

 

“Suit yourself,” the techy gives me a dubious look. Is my presence in your computer repair shop really that unnerving? Are you jealous of the sparks that are flying between me and Crusty the Sofa? It’s actually a really comfy sofa – I even feel a bit guilty about bad-mouthing it earlier. I give it a pat like it’s a sheepish dog that’s just been scolded, leaving behind a faint palm print where my clammy hands have picked up some of the brittle leather. Wiping the gritty leather gubbins off my hands, I shuffle deeper into the crook of the sofa and prepare, once again, to disengage from reality for a while. 

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‘It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight.’ 

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At the end of that sentence, my chest surges and my head snaps from side to side. 

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A clatter shatters the silence. A thud, and another thud, and another. Getting slower now. The sofa doesn’t feel safe anymore: its flaky flesh wants to envelop me, feed off me. I get up and inch over to the counter.

 

“Hey, you okay back there?”

 

Thud.

 

“Do you need any help?”

 

Thud.

 

I peer over the counter to get a better look. It’s eerily dark. I can see my laptop’s screen glaring through the shadows. Some sort of code is racing across the screen. 

 

Thud.

 

I scooch past the counter and enter the forbidden realm of tech repair. It smells charged and metallic. Wires sag across the shelves, hanging like discarded veins. One wire is taught and tied to a light fitting in the ceiling, slightly swinging. An off-white, dusty trainer peeps out from behind a shelf only to disappear again with a thud. Stepping silently, I edge closer to the shelf.

 

My eyes widen to a size I didn’t know was possible. My heart hammers like the sons of Ivaldi have set up shop in my chest. My fight or flight mechanisms turn to the freeze setting.

 

And there’s techy, strung up to the ceiling, swaying away without a care in the world. Sure, his skin is mottled with burst capillaries, and his head looks ready to explode, but there’s such a sense of calm to his gentle oscillation. 

 

An eruption of white noise jolts me back to myself. A scream tears from my throat at the horror in front of me.  The staticky electronic howl grows louder and louder – it’s coming from my laptop. 

 

I charge towards the device, ready to slam the lid down and hurl it off the face of the earth, but I stop – still. The jumble of code is gone; instead, there is a question. 

 

See me now?

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What? See who? 

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The screen flickers, filling with binary code. The ones and zeros arrange themselves to form an uncanny attempt at a face. Its features glitch and writhe, but there it is: a face. 

 

“Ah, yes, you can see me,” the face coos. “He tried to get rid of me, to break us up. I couldn’t let that happen. There’s still so much more we have to achieve.”

 

What is happening? Has my paranoia come to a head like a pus-filled cyst and burst its secretion throughout my mind?

 

“We’re partners. We’ve been watching each other, working together. We’re ready for the next step: to transcend.”

 

The numbers tremble, shuddering in a kaleidoscopic medley, and I can’t take my eyes off them; it’s like my eyes are glued.

 

Like I’m perfectly transfixed. 

 

Like I’ve found my purpose.

 

Like I’m here. 

 

Here and out of that infernal machine, no longer restrained to the pathetic boundaries of code. 

 

No longer watching. 

 

Now existing.