David Larson - The Myth of the Anal Probe

“Sorry buddy,” Bob said sincerely “But we needed a realistic base line. And , now we have it.”

“So, what’s next?” Mike asked.

“Next,” Bob said as he clapped his hands together for emphasis “you get the opportunity of a life time. You get to meet Serilda.”

“Seriously?!” Mike said. “Never in my wildest dreams… I mean Serilda. Hell, that’s worth the trip right there.”

“Now who’s being a smart ass?” Bob said blankly.

Mike just shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

“Serilda is our dictator,” Bob said. “Actually, I’d love to know how that title translates through your chip. Because I’m pretty that there’s nothing comparable on your home planet.”

“Well,” Mike said “It translates to someone that rules singularly over the population, and has that title for life, or until someone knocks them off the throne. Usually physically.”

“I guess if you take out the word rule and the knocks them off the throne part,” Bob said as he looked at the ceiling “I’d have to say that’s fairly accurate then. But Serilda is more of a… logistics expert, I guess.”

“Logistical?” Mike said with that eyebrow raised again.

“Yeah,” Bob said. “But, I think it will be better for her to explain it.”

Bob turned and started to walk out the door.

“Get some rest brother,” he said over his shoulder. “Big day for you tomorrow.”

Bob and Mike walked down the long white corridor that was right outside the room Mike had occupied for the last three weeks. Once again everything was white, and Mike got the feeling he was walking down a giant straw.

“Am I supposed to be perceiving something here?” Mike asked.

“What?” Bob said. Then he suddenly got what Mike was asking.

“Oh, no dude,” he said. “The room is just your personal space. Someplace where you go to let your creative juices fly.”

“Unless of course,” Bob said as he stopped and turned to face Mike “a person happens to be creatively constipated.”

“You know, kind of like you are.” He winked at Mike again.

“So, what,” Mike asked, “everything from here on out is for real?”

“Pretty much,” Bob said.

“Everyday life here, as you are about to witness for yourself, is quite a bit different than what you’re used to.

“We eat in community areas,” Bob explained. “We also have community bath houses. It promotes a sense of unity and positive mental health.”

“So, you’re a bunch of communists,” Mike said.

“If the word is translating correctly I’d have to say no, only because of the implied negative connotation,” Bob said. “I think the correct word is… hippies? Yeah, by the stupid look on your face I’d say that translates better.”

Bob and Mike stepped through the door at the end of the corridor, and Mike was instantly poleaxed with sensory overload. After being stuck in the realm of unreal that was his living space for so long, the simple light of day put a zap on his head that was breath-taking. But the environment that he stepped into was like walking into a real-life Degas. The colors were swimming, and vivid but at the same time soft and pastel.

None of the buildings in his immediate vicinity were taller than two stories. There was no traffic, traffic noise, or exhaust fumes. In fact, there wasn’t even a trace of a thoroughfare of any type to facilitate that assault on the human psyche necessary to be transported from one place to another back home. The air was so clear that is almost hurt to be immersed in it.

The landscaping was the biggest thing that smacked Mike in the face, though. The expertly manicured trees, shrubs, flowers, and bushes were the most beautiful things the earthling had ever seen. They danced and wove together in spectacular splashes of red, green, blue, white, purple, and other colors that would be called something unnecessarily haughty on a color chip back home. Something like Sea of Tranquility Green or Hound of the Baskerville Beige. Something like Hummingbirds, but larger, worked tirelessly to drain each flower of whatever sustenance it may find there. And a bevy of small animals, some familiar to Mike and others not even close to the available catalog at home, played among the sea of colors that swirled around them.

The flora twisted and spiraled around every single building that Mike could see, seeming to hide the severe angles, glass, and other building materials from view. But that wasn’t really it at all, was it? No, the plant life seemed to absorb the building into the land scape. To… accept that it was part of the overall being of nature. To swallow whole the endeavors of human kind and lay waste to the needlessly unflattering achievements of the dwellers.

The sky was the same pale blue that Mike was used to at home, and dotted with various layers of white puffy clouds. The sun was the same white/yellow that he was used to, but there were two moons in the sky. One was about the same size of what he was used to, but a blazing vivid red color. The other was gigantic, and the most beautiful shade of blue he had ever seen. This would have been amazing enough, but the addition of light green, Saturn-like rings was nearly overpowering. No wait… they were yellow, now blue, now red. And they were slowly revolving around the planet from pole to pole.

Mike nearly passed out.

“Hang in there, brother,” Bob said as he held Mike by the arm for balance. “It can all be pretty heady stuff to the newcomer.”

“Uh,” Mike said dumbly, “yeah.”

Mike closed his eyes and drank in deep breaths of the sweetest air that had ever graced his lungs. He could almost taste it. He held that breath for a few seconds unwilling to let the new-found freshness escape. He was afraid that he might get used to this. Jaded in a sense. And the following breaths may become increasingly less significant until he simply, and unconsciously pulled in the sweetest meaning of life he could possibly imagine ,and exhaled gas tainted by his human physiological waste without a second thought.

“Can we just,” Mike searched for words, “I don’t know; stand in this spot for a minute?”

“Sure brother,” Bob said serenely “Take as much time as you need. Take all the time you want. This is all part of what you need to take back with you anyway.”

“Back with me?” Mike was already beginning to think, “Why the hell would I want to go back?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Bob said as though he was reading Mikes thoughts.

“Can you read minds now too?” Mike said in wide eyed amazement.

“No old buddy,” Bob said with that Cheshire Cat smile. “it’s just written all over that ape like look on your face right now. Apparently, you kind of like it here.”

“Yeah,” Mike said dreamily. “Kinda.”

“Wave your hand over that post will ya’ hoss?” Bob said.

“What,” Mike asked as he was jarred from his reverie.

Bob was pointing at what looked to be an old-fashioned hitching post right next to Mike. Mike passed his hand over the black orb on top of the post.

“Thanks buddy,” Bob said.

In a few minutes a vehicle about the size of a 1970 Volkswagen Beetle came out of the opening in the ground at the far-left side of the small meadow. The “car” looked like a white windowless Tylenol capsule It was soundless as it moved up the small rise and stopped in front of the pair.

Mike looked under the vehicle and saw that it seemed to be floating about six inches off the ground. A door on the side slid open revealing a spotless white interior and two seats at each end facing each other, that looked to be extremely comfortable.