Life on Mars

Chapter One

TWIN BOOKS?

Twinned with the book Black Star by Michael J Dawson - These books are simultaneously published and can be read in either order, individually or together for a different experience.

References and codes are within the text, if we ever meet, ask me about the dreams.

Michael J Dawson

'My death waits like a bible truth

At the funeral of my youth

Weep loud for that – and passing time'

Jacques Brel

Chapter one

Coming back to life should be an altogether different experience to being born as a baby, Vic had argued. Reasoning that no one can remember being born because they had nothing to reference it with. They'd no power of deduction, intelligence or experience on which to gauge what's going on. So, naturally, he expected a different experience when he was reborn, resurrected, thawed out or whatever you chose to call it.

He was no baby after all, he was an intelligent and articulate 68-year-old man with plenty to reference. To his surprise and confusion, he'd been dead wrong on this. It was exactly like being a baby again, and in some respects worse for the same reasons.

The first thing he remembered was voices. He wasn't sure what they were at first. Not 'who' they were, but 'what' they were. He'd no concept of anything which fortunately included voices, fear and pain. There followed a warm dizzy feeling as if someone had opened a sluice and torrents of liquid were crashing around inside his head. It would only be later that he'd put words to what he felt. Was it knowledge, was it water or drugs? It made no difference; he'd no words for those things yet.

He told the medical staff later it was like waking up in ultraslow motion. Over time Vic became aware of himself and his own body. He became aware that he could have thoughts. Feelings and sensations arrived before he could finally hear his own heartbeat, but he was unaware of where the sound came from. He'd planned on being dead for a long time indeed and yet emerging from an indescribable blackness, his first emotion was concern because he'd a realisation of passing time.

It was maybe around ten minutes since his last conscious thought, since that smile, seeing the chemicals running into his diseased body. It was like finally getting off to sleep and then being disturbed.

He was paralysed and every muscle in his body ignored his commands. Then there were the memories, not real memories, more realisations; realisations he existed, and that the universe existed. Within his universe were all the objects of everyday life from planets and stars to chairs and lampshades. Everything he knew was entering his world like players on an immense stage. Once everything existed on his stage, he built his own story and existence around it all.

His consciousness shifted and he felt rather than saw a needle, which was as tall as him in a dark room with scratches so deep he could put his fingers inside. That was just a feeling, but he actually saw a wheel inside an orange wall, it was hidden beneath the plaster, but he knew it was there. He became confused, how can a man be a shadow, and when he heard the smell of sweet cherry tomatoes? He had deep enlightening thoughts which would disappear in an instant; it hurt to try and remember them. He remembered entire lives that weren't his and when he probed, his ability to scrutinise his thoughts was as elusive as the thoughts themselves. He was left with only a frustrating memory of a memory without the detail, merely the theme.