The Stars' Revelation

Jerry Baxton was almost too big to fit through the yellow water tube. Just as he settled through, he thought, almost at random: I don’t belong here. Something is not right.

Yet the night was soothing. A small breeze made the palm tree leaves dance over each other—just like the waves of the ocean behind them did—in unison. The Lazy River pushed Jerry along gently in a large, dull circle with his fat arms criss-crossed over the tube, his blue eyes gazing up at the stars. No moon. He guessed that with so many stars the moon wasn’t necessary.

He closed his eyes. At least I’m alone. No bitchy kids running around, yelling and smiling, yelling and crying.

But he wondered at the thoughts. They probably didn’t mean anything, anyw—

But what about the subconscious? They say that it holds your truest feelings/desires.

Then why do people have such mundane thoughts, especially ones that don’t make sense?

His feet planted the surface of the pool. That didn’t stop him from moving, though; the current dragged him along in dismay. His eyes locked on nothing, the complexion of his face contorted into a pensive look, lines running across his forehead and ears perked.

“Doesn’t make much sense,” he said to himself, and slapped the water like it was his ex-girlfriend’s face. Though he had never had a girlfriend in his life.

The thoughts came faster now, like quicksand. The tendons in his feet bulged as he tried to stop moving. He didn’t like the Lazy River. It moved him, in a way, like so many others had done to him in the most tasteless ways ever imagined (moved him to eat more, for example). Dear God, their evil, terrible behaviors, he thought, and shivered despite the warm water he was in. Goose bumps arose on his flesh, and once again he was reminded of those high-school days where outcasts were dismissed as trash.

Of course I belong here, he thought. And why not? Jerry had not had a vacation in years. Taking a few days off from school to unwind at the beach sounded good enough to him, so why the long face? He was alone a lot, sure, but alone now? What did that matter?

He was about to depart from the moving river and head back into the room when he stopped his thoughts. Calm down. Enjoy yourself.

He relaxed his muscles, closed his eyes, and let the river push him along.

“Thinking too much can drive a person mad,” he said aloud, and didn’t think he’d ever said anything more true. The mind of a loner.

From very high above (sounded like it came from the hotel room), he thought he heard a whisper. Was that his mind or just the wind? He slowly opened his eyes, curious.

. . . something is not right . . . a voice whispered in his mind.

Jerry’s heart suddenly began to pound. He shifted around on the water tube, looking around to see if someone was playing tricks on him.

But there was nothing but the cold night, some palm trees, an empty street, the large hotel, and the ocean—

. . . SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT. . . . That voice again. It sounded young and feminine; quiet and fearful.

His heart escalated. “Hello?” Jerry spoke up in the silence. Nothing. Just his thoughts. He circled around in his tube one last time, recounting the scenes: palm trees, an empty street, the large hotel—

His gaze locked on the large hotel. It was the biggest one in his field of vision, and he was only about twenty feet away from its entry doors. He craned his neck and scanned the repetitive outside balconies like a hawk. There had to be at least a hundred balconies, and he counted them from the ground up.