Different Dimension Squadron

It’s a radiant Sunday morning in Gran Bay, the kind of Caribbean morning that makes you feel as if Mother Nature herself could hold her breath, in awe of her very own mesmerising beauty. Unbeknownst to even “Ma Lanati”, however, high above the azure blanket of the sky and far beyond the reach of the most powerful telescopes, something ancient is slowly stirring from its slumber. A cursory c***k in the quantum vacuum of the cosmos, what seems like a flippant fracture of impossible physics, begins to warily web its way across the vastness of the silent void, splintering the fabric of space itself. In that instant, ten heavenly, scattered across the solar systems, resonate with an eerie, harmonious hum, overlayed with a chorus of barely perceptible voices, “Awaken! Thou which art been chosen long before this time, for the times yet to come.” But down here, on Earth, the only thing being chosen is what to have with this morning’s breakfast. As I stare out into the forest thoughtfully, the mountain breeze has a slight chill to it this morning, offering a sweet little reprieve from the blazing tropical sun, cooking the pavement beneath my feet. It’s the customary start to my days, sitting out on the verandah, my usual spot, nursing a cuppa, as the steam from my bush tea dances up into the humid air, mingling with the scent of the morning dew. Truly, it’s like a religious ritual, my little pocket of peace before the world wakes up and everything starts making noise, drowning out my thoughts and singeing my semblance of undisturbed self. “CRASH” The clatter of my mum getting ready for church, the distant bass of a neighbour’s sound system already starting its Sunday sermon of Old Caribbean Gospel Music - “Hear My Cry Oh Lord” by Marvia Providence blasting out across the village, reminding me of mornings spent with my Grandmother from back home before I migrated here and affording me the freedom to sing along, unlike other days of the week when soca and dancehall (which to a pentecostal household - does not exist) were the only things on the agenda. As a music lover with insatiable natural curiosity though I was always intrigued by this “Bad Music” and couldn’t but subconsciously soak up a bit of sin, letting a phrase or two slip out every now and again. I suppose looking back its moments like that, amongst others, that laid the foundation to this dichotomy of self, with one foot in one world and one foot in the other that would lead to the creation of all the separate avatars I would create to inhabit the various separate worlds I’d soon have to navigate, separately and simultaneously. Buttt, back to the plot. I take a long sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest, defending my body against the chill of the morning air. My mind’s already drifting, thinking about the paper I’m supposed to be writing for my Lit class. Freshman year at the college is… well, it’s college. A lot of reading, a lot of pretending I’ve done the reading, and a lot of wondering if I’m in the right place or even the right person. My friends and I, we’re all in the same boat, just trying to navigate this new chapter both by ourselves and together. One moment, I’m watching a hummingbird, a little iridescent jewel, dart between my mother’s hibiscus flowers, just trying to get my mind right for the day ahead. The next… the world is dissolving into light while I stare out dumbfounded, confused yet imperceptibly excited for some reason. It’s not a flash, not an explosion. It’s a silent, seamless subtraction of everything I know. The warmth of the sun on my skin, the rough wood of the table under my elbows, the weight of the mug in my hand—all of it, gone. Replaced with, well, what seems like nothing or nothingness, it’s hard to describe. I’m standing in a place that isn’t a place? But has to be a place? …. maybe? A void. White. Endless, featureless, oppressive white that stretches out forever in every direction, swallowing sight and suffocating thought. There is no up, no down, no floor, no ceiling. Just… expanse. The air doesn’t move if there is air at all that is. There is no sound. The silence is so absolute that it feels like physical pressure against my eardrums. My heart is hammering against my ribs, a frantic, lonely drumbeat in the empty. Then… gradually ….I see them. Shapes in the distance, silhouettes, people. Nine of them. As my eyes adjust to the supposed non-light, I recognize them. It’s Kenji, with his ever-present headphones that are now conspicuously absent. There’s Tamathia, her hands fluttering nervously at her sides, a habit she has when she’s anxious. I see Zurin, Auxrick, Aisha, Kitai, Zurin, Floetre, Corinth and Lasyzwe… all of them. All from my classes, my inner circle. My friends. A wave of relief crashes over me, so potent it almost brings me to my knees. At the very least I’m not alone. I try to call out Kenji’s name, but my mouth opens and no sound comes out. It’s like my voice is being snatched from my throat the second it’s born. Panic, cold and sharp, begins to prickle at the edges of my relief. I try again, trying to force out the air from my lungs. Nothing. Then I take a step towards them, desperate, lurching and the weirdest thing happens. They just seem to get further away. So I stop, confused. Kenji, who looks like he’s having the same idea, takes a step towards me. And he, too, recedes. It’s a nightmare’s logic, a distortion of space that my brain is viscerally refusing to accept. The more we walk towards each other, the greater the expanse of white between us becomes. We are cemented in our isolation, visible but unreachable. This is a void in its truest, most terrifying sense. Distance, time, sound—the fundamental laws of reality—they seem don’t apply here. My mind is scrambling, trying to find a foothold but where and how? How did we get here? What is this place? The silence just continues pressing in, offering no answers, offering nothing at all for what seems like forever, then, a new sensation. A whisper. It’s not in my ears; it’s inside my head, as if a thought is being planted there by an outside force. The voice is still yet anxious, commanding yet familiar, like the memory, half-forgotten. " Still thine spirit, I can sense your longing” it whispers, I feel this resonance as the voice continues. " Just look deep within, without searching, for YOU… ARE the answer.” But these words are nonsense, a paradox. How can you look for something without searching? But as the thought settles, something shifts. The panic that had been a frantic bird trapped in my chest begins to diminish. The frantic need to do something, to fight my way out of this, fade away without me even really realising it. Be still. It’s the only instruction I have. Intuitively, and without a conscious decision, I sit. I cross my legs, just like I’ve seen in movies. My back is straight. My hands rest on my knees. I close my eyes, and the transition from the overwhelming white outside to the darkness inside somehow manifests, unforced, naturally for reasons beyond my current understanding. A sudden thought appears, focus on your own breath, the one thing that still feels real. In. Out. The lonely rhythm of my own existence and slowly I get lost in it. Look within without searching …. Become lost to find the path. I don’t try to find anything. I just… listen. I listen to the rush of blood in my ears, the steady thrum of my heart. I sink deeper and deeper into the darkness behind my eyelids, letting go of the need for answers, for escape for anything. And my mind, my very consciousness, begins to feel… lost in nothing becoming everything. It’s the most peculiar sensation. It’s like standing on the shore as a tsunami of pure information, of raw understanding, as it washes over me. For a fleeting instant, I feel like I understand everything about everything. The formation of stars, the language of existence itself, the sorrow in a lover’s last glance, the complex mathematics in a web of nature. It’s all there, a vast, interconnected library of cosmic knowledge. But just as quickly, it’s gone, leaving me with nothing but the ghost of its presence. It’s like when a word is on the very tip of your tongue, so close you can almost taste it, but it just won’t come out. The knowledge is in me, but I can’t access it. I understand everything, and yet, I understand nothing at all. As I grapple with this baffling epiphany, the void reacts. Though my eyes are closed, I can sense a change. A vibration. A shift in the non-space around me. When I open my eyes again, they are there. Ten figures. They stand in a circle around me, their forms shimmering as if made from imprisoned starlight. They hadn’t been there a second ago. They are tall and regal, cloaked in shadows that seem to drink the white light of the void. They feel ancient, powerful, and utterly beyond my comprehension. And yet, somehow, I am not afraid. I look past them, searching for my friends, but they are gone. Only I seem to notice these newcomers. One of them, standing directly before me, glides forward. The movement is so unnaturally fluid that it’s like watching water flow uphill. The face beneath its hood is a swirling nebula of soft light and deep shadow. “Welcome back, breath of my body,” it says, and the voice is the same one from my mind, but now it’s richer, more ethereal, a chord of a dozen harmonious tones I never knew existed, it’s confusing to my ears like they weren’t built to comprehend the overlaid frequencies of these vibrations. It’s a voice that has seen galaxies born and die. “You have formed a new star from which to shine, whose gravitas shall keep the family from scattering into eternal ruin.” My brain stutters to a halt. The sheer, uncut weirdness of the situation finally short-circuits my stunned silence. “What!?” The word bursts out of me, loud and clumsy in the wake of its poetic pronouncement. I can speak. I unconsciously scamper backwards, my hands pushing against a floor that isn’t there. “Are you… are you talking to me?” The figure inclines its head, a gesture of infinite patience. “Yes, Sun. The time, unfortunately, has arrived. What was final is now ended, and the undone must be redone.” Sun? He’s calling me Sun. My name is Sçoryn. I mean I may not know not have ever met my real dad but I’m pretty sure this ain’t him. I want to correct him, but my throat is dry again. The name hangs in the air, feeling both alien and deeply, frighteningly familiar. “The journey ahead is long,” the star-faced being continues, its voice softening, “but fear not. You will guide us all into true transcendence. You are the anchor. The impitus. The beginning.” “Guide you? I can’t even guide myself to my eight a.m. class on time!” I’m babbling, somehow and silently the frantic panic is back in full force and it’s doubling down, while the absurdity of it all is making me feel light-headed. “This has to be a dream. I’m dreaming.” The figure seems to smile, a crinkling of the starlight on what I assume is a face. Then its final words hit me!