PART 1

 

 

How to approach the withering heights that befell my kingdom those thousands of years ago? Written far beyond the clouds of Olympus, tokened of the merry whispers they let unfurl, it as yet found itself far unheld from the grasp of their solemn, collective might. The time I found myself in was a winter’s shine across the rock face in front of me. The north wind dazzled against the beams of dust colliding across the moors. The red lands stretched out towards our rising, jagged monoliths that seemed liked escarpments in the brazened background. Pillars of circular mirages climbing effortlessly and wretchedly dawned something new in front of me, like a newfound cloud on the horizon in front of the battleground blocking my way forward. It was time to press on with the journey and make it back to Station B before nightfall and the winds swept across the land.

 

The door was heavy, and its electronic bolts snatched open the way in front of me to glide onwards. Time was on my side, I thought to myself, and it was time to waken up right here in the precipice.

 

Evango was sat across the desk of the meeting room, smoking quietly a droplet of bliss as the champagne flutes blew clouds up into the atmosphere in front of us. “Where have you been, Chuck?” He gestured briefly before turning and staring at the hologram screen behind him. “The winds are setting in for the whole night. It’s time to buckle up the hatches.”

 

“Those storm clouds are like Orion’s heaven cues in days past by so long in these realms.” Replied Chuck whimsically. “It’s like turning a dust bowl into an ocean of fresh air,” he said again. He turned and stared at Evango in front of him. “Hey Evango,” he murmured further, “pass me the lightning bolt and let me unwind for a moment. There’s a million more people across this planet and it’s the time I want to feel like the most blessed one.”

 

Evango threw it aside the table like a drunken jester. “And let me play second fiddle to a young scally wag like you,” he joked rising to his feet. “There’s two ways two men can drink one and amongst themselves,” he continued. “And it entails smoking the rest of the bliss till everyone’s right up in the precipice.”

 

“Alright.. fair doos,” replied Chuck calmly, relaxing himself in his chair. “Now be a gent, would you please young sir, and turn on Stardom on the hologram TV. At 9 they’re showing the centrezone repeat from last summer.”

 

The hologram TV glared in front of them for several minutes as Chuck and Evango slowly unwound and rested their feet up upon the office table. It was a merry whisper of the completion of their day’s labours, goading them onwards like an artic leopard into Tomorrowland. Chuck, the older of the two by two years, found his serene disposition the more pleasant of his compadre’s and at last perked up and peered across the room in front of them. “You ever thought about what they’d do if Jess Banks gave up the No. 1 radio station?” He pronounced feebly at last.

 

Evango glanced steadily to his left and blew aside Chuck’s interruption with careless wonder. “No. Why do you ask?”

 

“It always makes me think about what they’d do if they took it to more planets and got more professional.”

 

“They’re a bunch of lowlifes,” denounced Evango proudly. “Always have been. I’d bet the last nickel I’d ever have that they’re never gonna go anywhere.”

 

“Alright… yeah… you’re right.” Murmured Chuck.

 

“Pass me the bucket of Lightning Bolts will you,” continued Evango. “I’m in the mood for a heavy one!”

 

And so they drank. They drank and drank like the northbrook pits’ finest cave dwellers. As is often the custom with the transgression upwards into the realms of euphoria, the louche woodchoppers soon grew steadily into the kingdoms of heaven. Arching like the bowmen, trillering ayonder like the bustling browed serpents, their sights turned to new palaces.

 

“Yes pass me the crystals, if you please,” announced Chuck as he took a rich and ripe puff of the bliss. “It’s time to trilock this cataclysm far higher!”

 

“Ahh besmight me!!!! Ahh Peregrine took!!!” Exclaimed Evango two minutes later, engripped by this savage frenzy.

 

“What to do now, eh, young squire?!” Proclaimed Chuck, lifting his head from the white powder on the table.

 

“Well that would be pretty young swell look at the bar two floors above us,” bludgeoned Evango, lurching forward. “Let me just arise from my chariot of fire and dust off the newly awaited inbreds!”

 

“Why! Don’t you always take a swell lunge at anything this god foresaken establishment has to offer! Now pass me the last of the lightning bolt cans. I need to enter this courtyard like the forager I am!”

 

And precisely like the storm troopers who had once trudged across our lands millions of years ago, the two whimsical married couple made they way casually to the white-painted stairway before embarking two floors higher to the Orion bar. Emerging from the flight of stairs, they stared at the transparent automatic doors in front of them.

 

The place they found themselves in was no less than a gateway to the Pacific worlds of Earth-like planets they found themselves so many billions of miles away from. Smoking smoothly like opium dens and colliding serenity into the fish bowls of lust, the environment they found themselves in was a World Trade Centre of futurism.

 

But that is not precisely what this is about. Yes, yes, years of wonder had housed the vines ayonder circling like seagulls above the shores of Dover, found as yet murmuring in each vine cuplet that launched their psyche millions and millions of miles away into the stratosphere. And precisely it does as much that. But not before Evango and Chuck could emerge in the premises and appear before a group of four solemn drinkers, who they called their friends.

 

“Evango! Evango! Why yes Evango!” Yelled Crystella soothing her left palm against her thigh. “How wonderful for you two to come and join us!”

 

Chuck stared glibly at the personas glaring back at him. It was Funat, Rem and Imogen, along with Crystella already perching across the loungers like the slut she was. A sea breeze of spunk already cascading it’s way towards him, it seemed. But how was he going to avoid it’s fight in its own littered citadel. “A spot of moon gliding, I see you engaged in,” he pronounced gently.

 

“Oh don’t be silly!” Cried Imogen blissfully. “We’ve been drinking these cuplets for the past hour. Crystella and I are feeling as loose as Earth’s feather-plumed pilots!”

 

“Well don’t you just fly off quite yet,” interrupted Evango, making space for himself on the loungers. “A spot of bother has come to occasion me,” he hustled proudly. “And it involves not seeing you naked on the dancefloor before midnight tonight!”

 

“Don’t be silly!” Rebutted Imogen in giggles. “I’m blossoming into waves like blue birds dazzling far higher than your sad, lonely grasp!” She took a puff of the bliss on the table. “And I can assure you, no one is gonna take my insolence away from me!”

 

Chuck rested to himself on the squadron of benches and picked up a glass of Excelsus. “Many people across this planet can pick up a glass of Excelsus, but can they tell you the way the cosmos will point when they wake up in the morning?” He asked the crowd like a whisper in the air.

 

“Die hard like the open expanse right out that window,” continued Imogen adamantly in anger. “It’s where you’re gonna fucking end up if you come up with any more of that crap!”

 

Chuck lent back on the bench and took a solemn, long puff of the bliss. “Yeah. Because that’s done so much help to all those who have been caught in the storms without their masks on.” He uttered back towards her face.

 

“How's about I say no one knows what being in a storm out on the red deserts is like on their own,” interrupted Funat viciously from the corner. “It doesn’t matter to anyone in any case. Anyway,” he continued, peering at Chuck. “How is that race track actually going on out on the dusty sands, Chuck?”

 

“It’s coming along like a bridge over a river,” he murmured in reply. “Honestly it is.”

 

“When is the race again?” Butted in Rem from the corner.

 

“Not for another nine months,” uttered Chuck before he leant back and relaxed himself on the bench.

 

“Then why do you spend all day working on it,” pressed Evango further. “It’s not normal!”

 

“Why it’s as normal as a baby’s bottom,” denounced Chuck adamantly in reply. “I just need to find the right people to fill the race track with vehicles.”

 

“You know that reminds me,” intruded Funat into the discussion. “Have you seen the latest clips of Stardom on Channel 1? It went supernova last weekend when Zeno started getting naked on set!”

 

“Rah! Touché!” Exclaimed Evango, reaching over to pick up another glass of Excelsus. “Some of the pop stars on that station are straight out of heaven.”

 

“You know what you’re such a pig,” interrupted Crystella from the side suddenly. “I can’t stand it when you start sizing up every woman in every building we go into. Can we just get a few more of these drinks before you start badgering us for the whole evening!”

 

And they drank and drank for the following three hours. It was like a kaleidoscope of emotions… a kaleidoscope of the soul. Richly awakened with the dreams of their hearts… the passions of their dreams. It was their day in the precipice and it was their day to be alive!

 

At one point Chuck arose to buy a round of drinks from the bar. The bar was a corner stall at one with the background of richly purpled colours and emotions, and tokening each customer with a digital imprint into their burgeoning reawakening back on the loungers.

 

It was a time to submerge in the trinity of the holy land. It was a time to hide in the cataclysms of self doubt or idleness. It was a time to reach ayonder. For they were their own puppets in Guy Fawkes’ very fine pantomime unravelling itself in front of them. Cogs, you see, ladies and gentlemen, cogs is what they are and always will be. And more than that. It was a smooth serenade of their inseverable tenets.

 

For you see there are men like us, young fellows, who climb and climb through the ranks reaching nothing other than their own time-wasting. We can and must satisfy ourselves with the kingly realm of chat and bevving in the orders of that almighty communist manifesto those years ago! Now to all of you, chin chin!

 

And it was that night they found themselves gleaming and cavorting in the nightclub several floors above them. High tempo sounds serenaded their dreams and flattened their senses into the unholy precipice they found in front of them. Like the wolves ayonder, unwound destined to find themselves once again on that very cliff face they dusted their shoes on those years ago. It was a glimmering castle in front of them, but not as yet broached, till at last Chuck drew near to Crystella on the corner of the dance floor and murmured a few words to her.

 

“I’m like my very own Disco Stu,” he bellowed into the space in between them. “Bougez avec moi young sweet mademoiselle!”

 

Crystella seemed to ignore Chuck’s serenading words, but instead glared at the space in front of them and lurched in to whisper a few words into Chuck’s ear. “I want to murder you and your family,” was the solemn tune she gasped, before she arched back and continued dancing in a tombola formation.

 

Chuck had no clue what she was saying, but rather could see Evango gliding with a group of women on the left corner. He picked up a shot of Xeon from the bar and moon walked over  towards the crowd to unleash himself. Yes, yes, more drinks were passed around and the trillocking treasures of the night soon began to transport them all to newfound planets.

 

Because what are we, young men? Are we the doom gloomers of neverbrook’s hideaways… the sauntering jockeys of the riches’ realms… the bleeding bastions of lusting’s caverns? None other than the desires of infinity, encapsulated in their cuplets, could block their pursuits. And all upon that nightclub that night gained the gold medal at the boater’s regatta!

 

For they all danced and danced like wild animals gripped by the drumming bass. Seizing the passions and seizing the euphoria, they unravelled into a richly gleaming supernova of emotions, kaleidoscoping into the hearts and minds of all that lit up that evening like the beacons of the north. Choose the passion of revelry unabound, choose the the licentiousness of pillars unknown, which as yet the drunken revellers did as much, soaring their heart beats into the newfound stratosphere, before at last they all collapsed onto bed.

 

 

*********

​

 

I can run and run like the mountain bears. In this world I can reach up to the eagles in the sky and let them rest and nibble on my paws. But how can I? How can we? We the populace… we the human race… how can we delve so far underneath the shores that swept us to new frontiers those billions of years ago?

 

What makes us so righteous? What makes us so alive? What delvells into the inner souls of our minds and crawls through our skin? I am not but a mere astronaut aboard this ship, nowt but a dream flyer catching on to our sails. But how can we let go of everything we’ve been through? And feel as pure as the mountain eagles ayonder?

 

Chuck woke up and paced towards the door of his bedroom. He put on a shirt and paced delicately towards the communal kitchen at the side of the office room. No one was in the room and he paced over to the fridge, took out a pre-packaged cheese toastie and placed it in the oven on the right side.

 

He rested on the table and chairs in the centre of the room calmly before the bell rang on the oven and he strolled over to collect the toastie. He sat back down and continued nibbling away on the toastie for a good twelve minutes until Evango strolled into the kitchen like a drunken wreck.

 

“It seems strange to see you up so early?” Cried Evango with a raspy gasp. “It’s not like a Literon to see a morning awaken before lunchtime!”

 

“Why that would come with the toils of the job,” denounced Chuck with a perplexed grin. “You see not all of us can sit on the Internet all day like you!”

 

“Well that would be the brightest spark of them all!” Joked Evango whimsically.

 

Today both of them were required to contribute to the running of society like the state free people they were. Well that, my friends, is the truth, because everything in their lands was audited like the juggernaut it was. So indeed it was a morning’s respite before the toils and ongoings in front of them.

 

Chuck worked for the events chain “Wordsmith” while Evango was a coder for the left constellation’s branch of “Nebula”. Their hours normally began at around at eleven reaching the heights at about four, but not unacquainted with the free thinking drive of the Earthian folk. Yes, yes, the only difference is that le pagan vagabonds had delved so far into the future life to all of them was a jocose rodeo.

 

Evango, the more laid back of the two when it came to his profession, was indeed a left fielder at heart, instilled admittedly with the alcoholic bloodline of his right field compatriots, and saw his work as a dainty picture drawing to unhinge himself both towards and against once in a while. Yet our man is in fact Chuck, who shares the same fields as this author, and grew and grew obsessively about his career, almost akin to as much as he enjoyed the bliss cigarettes.

 

Evango, I’m afraid to say, was far superior surrounding the class with which he talked about what he believed to be a superior profession to many, and had developed a peculiar announcement by which he described the mechanisms of the tasks he found in front of him. For instance, if Zeno were to categorise the tree top with a new image, would the code then be fed back to station 12 or station 11?  Similarly, if Zeno were to complain about the treatment of her on stage when she visited Mars Sky, would she then be able to list her complaints figuratively or literally? Yet further, if none of them or anyone else complained, would the righteous brethren be able to download copies of the abuse being laid out.

 

What this appeared like to the public was a massive graph in front of them, laiden with fingerpoints, outselling most things in the whole confederation. Finger pointing paws these days had found their way to the coffee mornings with Atlas’ spheres.

 

Yet Chuck on the other hand was blessed with a wilful intrigue and worshipped the ground he walked on like the career it was to him. He would wrap the towels around him, unhinge the gateway, say goodbye to the security team, and jump on the ski mobile that was straight out of our favourite “The Shining” except that it floated in the air.

 

There he would glide, but not too far, because there were, I’m afraid to say, looters on the Martian desert, who came from nearby blocks but were more criminal. Yes, yes… and this is how it went. Once travelled two kilometres into the Martian desert, looking back all he could see is the pillars of the radio waves launching roughly two kilometres into the sky because they had to transmit everything back millions and millions of miles away. The buildings would seem like empty stables for there were all, I’m afraid to say, minute stable yards, taking much more depth at the bottom to prevent against colliding rocks or missiles. Yes, yes, Mars is a bloody war zone mate. The infrastructure felt barren and cold… alright… there were a few roads but it is like the fucking desert with stable yards dotted around. The point, my friends, of being there, is to explore more into the mechanics of our livelihood that is our infrastructure and science. You, I’m afraid to say, have just been alloted this topic, because it is similarly filled with vagabond cum hipsters, because there is something to be said about an all pagan crew in a nightclub.

 

And this is where we found Chuck, gliding on his jet ski into the Martian desert. His mask was strapped viciously across his throat, enclosing the air particles, yet let us not forget that he was forcefully required to wear a tight, blazoned jacket that bit into the sun particles, while his trousers remained like anyone else’s.

 

The mask had a hydraulic button, which ensured nothing could escape it except the air he breathed, evaporating away from him. It kept his face filled with oxygen via the chords into nothing, because they were very, very clever, and did so by absorbing moisture from the dust and changing it very quickly into something similar to oxygen. However, take it off and he could die within seconds.

 

But Chuck could and should be a fighter. He could caress his inner anticipations with infintessimal intoxication. He stuck a tall, white flag into the red soil beneath him. It was a sign post directing the first of the stages on his much anticipated race track. It was the furthermost point on the western leg of the race circuit, something that seemed all the more clear in the dusty breeze.

 

A jaunting saunter along the start line to assess the rock samples and his day was complete. He boarded the jet ski and glided solemnly back to Station B.

 

Meanwhile, pine-cladden in the outer regions of the nebula, Chuck’s bar time friend, Crystella, was undressing herself amongst her friends. Her job was a prostitute. Or was it not, as we all agree, actually in fact a job as customer assistant in a fashion boutique. Yes, yes, well those don’t exist on Mars you stupid cunt because they’re all intrepid explorers. Yes, yes, but what she could be instead, befitting her own ogled eyed views, is a banker somewhere on Mars. Yes, yes… precisely so… why I’d say her role would entail divvying out the funds to everyone involving a computerised system. What say, if she went into investment banking? Cannot, cannot be done! Simply cannot be done! Neverbrooks is a complete system dependent on the utmost stringency of political correctness that entails shifts and whereabouts, shifts and whereabouts. Yet, pondering to herself one moment, Crystella might have a thought to go into new venture creation. Alas all ye let me intrude and say that is fraught with danger, because one pops up every moment and struggles with enormous difficulty against the mass corporations who expand themselves accordingly, although they are more just than that might seem.

 

Yet within her bankers’ chambers, dressed in a leopard print skirt and loose drapings from either side on top, Crystella unwound her hologram laptop, and headed towards the nearest exit. Her journey home involved catching the sky bus, that flew beautifully through the sky until reaching a service station admittedly about 20 miles from Station B, before she jumped aboard her space wagon, whacked on the radio and glided smoothly like the Smooth FM she was listening to.

​

Life to Crystella was a very different subject to both Evango and Chuck. She was a dreamy adult who blew hopes and prosperity into all the folk she came across, in stark contrast to their die hard bastionism. Yes, yes, she was on Mars because she was a hippy, not too unalike the Earthian kind, yet more warranted in the streams of acceptability and furnishment than, say, a 60s vagabond.

 

She pondered to herself whilst driving the space wagon roughly two kilometres up in the sky (completely secured by robotic suspension against the sky that ensured absolutely nothing could go wrong). Mark doesn’t know much about me, does he. He was unaware of our cavernous future lunch time party. Well haha! She cackled to herself. I’m a jauntering water nymph ready to seize Mount Oko on Mars Sky like the professional slut I am. Rah! Touché! Now best I drive this citadel back towards the sky castle’s realms! Adios! Adios!

 

She disembarked the vehicle leisurely downwards to a halt, and parked it underneath the very secure garage that was guarded by the security team. Opening up the latch above her head, she grabbed her rucksack, keys and anything else she might have and went through the side door of the garage basement. You see the garage is actually the biggest bit to the foreground, and catapulted itself as a claimant to be some kind of homely, very homely indeed, space station.

​

Dropping off her stuff in the communal canteen, suddenly her bourgeois demeanour was met by the entrance of Evango, arriving in the vicinity and perching up upon the corner of a work surface. “It’s the arrival of the Egyptian falcons, I see!” He joked exuberantly. “It’s just the break I need to get me away from my desk!”

 

“How was your day?” Replied Crystella briefly. “I’ve been trollying around data coins for the past four hours. My feet are killing me.” She strolled over to the table and rested her feet on top. “Pass me the lightning bolt!” She cried, pulling out a cigarette of bliss. “I need a back massage before I can do anything!”

 

Evango and Crystella drank and drank through a good, exuberant dosage of lightning bolt, escaping similarly with the drowning spiritual relaxation of the bliss cigarettes. They strolled their feet onto the table and stared ecstatically at the shadows in front of them.  At one point, Evango started re-enacting his voodoo dance he had learnt the other day, while at another time Crystella illuminated Evango with her most devilish cackling smile.

 

It had been a good two hours of this blessed revelry, before Chuck appeared in the room and announced something intriguingly to the crowd. “There’s a night on at Mars Sky this evening, folks!"  He said.  "Tickets are being sold on the door!”

 

And that was indeed enough to find two takers in a realm with such inebriated, reckless vagabonds. The three proposed that they would go just in their collection, accompanied by no one else, and drive one of the bigger and more stable space wagons all the way to Mars Sky.

​

​

*********

​

​

On this occasion, it was the opportunity to venture to one of the carvernous, loathsome drinking establishments in the vicinity of the Mars Sky neighbourhood. Mars Sky, itself, was in fact just out of Disney Land Paris, rising like Dubai’s citadels in the dusty red backdrop. It had a population of about 34 million, and was a huge metropolis filled with scientists, engineers and works people. They jaunted around in very professional suits in very serious, huge conglomerates that were at the forefront of outer space exploration vehicles. Yet to arrive at Mars Sky, for Chuck, Evango and Crystella, you had to pilot the space wagon two thousand kilometres (but they drove very quickly) and land safely upon one of the official landing spots.

 

There, with the space wagon flown and landed, the three ball unbuckled their seat belts and felt very in awe of the technologically advanced landing spot they found themselves positioned on. It was black and shimmering with metal alloys that seemed like a carbon spider to your minds.  In fact, now you ask, to land one of these things you went through a portal that cut out the Martian breeze, and by the time Chuck opened the door they were in perfectly contained atmospheric conditions. 

 

The landing bay around them was a massive fortress, guarded vigorously by space troopers. I’d like to say here if you want pleasantries and relaxation, Earth is the one for you. Mars is a battleground over who has the best space ship, and if you want to join us you will have to grow and muscle up massively.

 

Yet it did appear to them like an ocean liners’ Stansted airport. You see there aren’t that many of them and you have to catch the monorail from here on in.

 

Evango pecked Crystella on the cheeks and shoved the space wagon’s door aside him. “Time to get going, Princess!” He bellowed the other side of the door. "It's gonna be sweet sensations and euphoria from here on in!"

​

The subway journey was a kaleidoscope of emotions. Chuck felt his sweaty palms slither across the hand rails as Crystella looked resplendent across the carriage. What was she like, he thought to himself. They had only known each other for two years now since Evango had first introduced her and welcomed her into Station B. Were the clouds above him destined to climb ayonder and ayonder till the day broke the Earth? Could he see into the future and watch her ready knife delve deep within his chest.

​

Bang sounded the alight call and the three disembarked off the train. It was short walk deep underground like the subway tunnels of Earth towards a decrepit looking exit beneath a cavernous marquee that slithered and slythed towards a gateway to a club at the bottom. 

​

Happenings seemed to happen all the way down, stretching their eyesights like blazing fireworks.  But they were there at the precipice!!  And ready to rock’n’roll! It was in their hearts and in their souls. It was in their bloody veins, plymouthed like by-gone chalices billions of years in the past.

 

For… ladies and gentlemen…it is written in no other than that artefact we all call the bible, Boltaweb.com, that man shall rise.  They shall touch pure heaven from the skies!  And that extends to no less than all the populace who walk on our soils! It climbs and climbs up through the mountains till it lights up the beacons of infinity! And there they were… right at the helm!

 

Chuck pulled out his ID and showed it to the doorman standing in front of the entrance to a pub the other side of the alleyway to the club. “In you go,” he gestured before the three of them stretched into the four walled confines. Unfortunately, with his astute self-confidence, Evango darted ahead, closely followed by Crystella who somewhat fancied him and looked eager to pursue where the night was taking them.

 

In fact, let’s all here congregate and ponder over what was seeming to becoming a blossoming romance between Evango and his endearing friend Crystella. They had been the first to incorporate the group that had so often gathered to drink amongst themselves in the bar of Station B. It had always been the toothy eye grin of Evango towards Crystella that had lit up the room around them.

 

Yes. Chuck knew it! Deep down in their souls, writhing in anger all this time, was their unabated love for each other. And yes, he thought, it was to awaken tonight! Chuck knew he had to do something. Standing at the front of the bar, he grabbed a pint of Excelsus and darted off to the smoking area under the parapet.  

 

There he perched upon a bench row and lit up a cigarette of bliss. What thoughts do not arrive to people in those precincts, but on this occasion another man approached him astutely. 

 

“Trorrows not keeping you occupied, young esquire?” Cried the burtleyed young man. “Tis an alright festival, but you won’t find yourself following in the footsteps of the glorified past.”

 

“What do you mean by that?” Delved Chuck further. 

 

“I said the the north cliff nightriders won’t look ayonder once the cave dwellers rise asunder.” Noted the burtleyed young man as he stared at the wall behind him. “Tis a cunt world,” he continued. “Old Julius knows his whereabouts … but always the furthest from the penny fountain.” He took a despondent gulp of his pint. “Tis a cunt world, young fella, tis a cunt world,” he said one more time before he strolled away into the distance. 

​

Chuck was taken aback by his marked words.  He was confused and perplexed and had somewhat lost the jaunting bravado that had so markedly characterised him throughout the preceding week.  He lost his focus and stared ominously at the ground beneath him.  Find Evango, he thought to himself, find Evango and regather himself under the parapet.

​

The man he was looking for, however, was very much enrapt by the beguiling stares of the seamstress that was Crystella.  Her fruitful lips and tender eyebrows sauntered above Evango’s grasp and left him, I’m afraid to say, with a heavy libido.  “Not now!”  Was his cry as Chuck desperately called towards him from the exit.  “Can we please leave,” Chuck said again, before he stumbled from side to side out the door.  Pacing further and further up the hill towards the nightclub, subconsciously he could perceive both Crystella and Evango arriving behind him.  It was strange and unearthly, like a bat pursuit in the darkness.  Yet he felt the comfort of their images and before long regathered himself in the queue to venture inside. 

​

 

********* 

 

The place they found themselves in was the twisting viaduct of Tommorowland, for you see there are men unlike us who worship nothing more than the beguiling delusions of another kind folk. But to proceed with the text, ah yes, to proceed with the text, why I’d say that would be a swell long look at Tomorrowland.

 

So, kind folk, which you will as much have to be as much, to gain admittance, standing in the queue of one of these places was like a daunting castle of all the most rebellious people possible. You, I’m afraid to say, will be laughed at for the rest of your life, because you sided with us, very much like now I’m afraid to say, but there is definitely an afterlife, that much is guaranteed by the winds of the nourishment provided by the ecstatic waves, nurturing the Higgs Boson. There are in fact 53 million taken and all flown wondrously.

 

Chuck and the crew slotted their passports into the electric scanner, which sourced information over their history, blocking I’m afraid to say someone like you from entering, unless they had passed a probation examination. They passed through a tiny dot in the wall, which scanned absolutely everything and proceeded, with their permittance, into the entranceway. Arriving together in the vicinity, the natural custom was as usual to unwind their coats and reveal their own sensuous inner beauty.

 

To broach further into this roundabout, the button stopped unless you claimed fervently that you were not carrying any super-powered drugs which could make someone large insanely violent against women. The sad truth was it was the pretty ladies’ biggest fear and tormented those who had to be that gender. Yes, yes, the women have collided into the future so proud and daintily nothing can stop them.

 

The surroundings were like a cataclysm of frenzied shapes… you see there are actually not that many nightclubs and you will have to fight to get in, but once in you will find them to be enormous in size like The Odeon cinema in Tunbridge Wells, plentiful with floors and offering some massive, expansive rooms. The bars lined the corner in fact, they do, just like the Spa Hotel only far bigger and actually in the corner. 

 

And it was, emerging at the precipice, budging their way through the main entranceway, that they plucked up the courage to buy tickets for tonight’s show. You see each room had live performance gig artists by which I mean robotic frenzied shapes in front of them on the stage with someone who appeared like a DJ, only far more in the back drop to the dance routine at the front. Alright yeah, there we are, it was a frenzy and quite sexually motivated.

 

Naturally, at this point, people’s attention would turn to buying a drink. And precisely it did as much that to Evango, Crystella and Chuck who emerged through the crowd of people and arrived at the front of the bar. 

​

“Chuck you look like a space trooper in that black top!” Cried Evango, leaning over the bar. “It’s like sitting in Mount Oko next to a two-year-old!” He peered around at the room in front of them. “Damn it I'm gagging for a drink!” He yelled. “What are we all having?” 

​

“Pass me a shot of Adrion,” murmured Chuck despondently. He turned and gazed around at the room behind him. “The crowd here tonight look like they’re all from Station 12,” he continued forlornly. “What does it take to get a decent crowd of chicks here once in a while!”

 

“Stop trollying around like a dickhead,” interrupted Crystella from the side. “Let’s just get our drinks and head over to the dancefloor!” She picked it up with her right hand and began strutting her stuff away from them. “I’m like own very fine pink pantheress!!!!!”

 

And it was there that the group, and yet further even the entire crowd, shoved their tall shot glasses down their throats and picked up a legalised baggy from their pockets. What would follow would be a genuine and certified ecstasy of passion.

 

Richly new dawns opened in front of them. Invigorated souls enveloped their presence into their bucket helmets. Trottering dingle beads lit up the bed chambers like the far gone pleasure powders. Their night had come to an end and they frolicked onto bed.

​

 

*********

​

Tomorrow will be the day of reckoning. It will rise and climb till nothing will let it fall. It will arrive higher than the furthest kingdoms of the sky. It will touch unrivalled treasures in its richly-soaked hands. We will set a flag pole on every moon in this great universe! We will achieve this populace’s motherfucking dreams!!!!!

 

Chuck woke up in a pool of sweat in his thick, white satin duvet. It must have been a dream, he thought to himself. But it was a heavy one at that.  He was soaked in sweat from head to toe. He brushed his hand through his slithery hair and threw aside the damp duvet. Evango was already in the kitchen. He could hear his heavy munching of toast already reverberating through the room. He slid on a T-shirt, (yes very fine, well you have indeed won, you see a captain should take command of his ship and you have precisely ended the telepathy for no one other than you once this novel is over, and why not go for the long storyline.). But as we were, kind folks, the garments ascribed to people those years ago, were a sort of blissfully liberal super advanced T-shirt that was both breatheable and very warm, very very warm, in fact they all had minute sensors that breathed electrically warmth into the inhabitant.

 

Evango was perched in the centre of the kitchen, resting his feet on the table in front of him. He had a despondent whiling about him as if he had just thrown his life dejectedly onto the floor. “Why are you looking so glum, old chap?” Enquired Chuck as he took out a cold lightning bolt from the fridge. “The weather’s gonna pick up for the rest of the week.”

 

“I couldn’t give a shit about the weather,” denounced Evango wretchedly in reply. “The sad truth is I’ve gotta go and see the bitch that is my Aunt all this afternoon.” He peered at Chuck like a wolf in the wilderness. “Do you know what that means?” He turned and stared at the hologram TV glaring behind them. “She’s like a decrepit lamp shade that’s pestered me for the last 200 years. All I can think about is the day she winds up the other side of Mars Sky like the computer games all her stupid children play in the arcade quarter.”

 

“Eh, lad,” interjected Chuck whimsically. “There’s no need to stress about it.” He turned and looked at the calendar stuck aboard the fridge. “How about I come and join you. It’s nay bother whatsoever.” 

 

And indeed the two pals agreed that they would venture alongside each other to Evango’s much thought-of Aunt.  To do so they would have to embark on a newfound sky glider, the sort of premier Porsche 9/11 to the space wagon world, that appeared like a short-winged, stretched-out kite that zoomed billions and billions of metres per second.

 

It was there, under the ceramic alloyed roof, that Chuck pulled over a drink from the cup holder as he drove the vehicle onwards. It slid gleefully across the Martian moors like a shooting star flying off into the atmosphere, colliding endlessly into the expanse in front of it. Chuck turned and stared at Evango beside him emphatically. “Let’s take this thing for a walk!” 

 

The space wagon shot up into the air, climbing like an electrified dragon, before Chuck lunged the projection forward and the vehicle twisted and turned like a Phoenix in the sky. “I could teach this thing a few things or two!” Screeched Chuck before he shoved the leaver forward and the space wagon ducked down viciously towards the earth. “Ahh!!!!” They both screamed, before Chuck slammed on the breaks and glided it delicately and safely back down to the ground.  “It’s like driving a pterodactyl!” Cried Chuck like he was foaming at the mouth. “Shall we proceed onwards towards your Aunt!”

 

The two sat back in the automobile as it glided pleasantly across the sands for the remainder of the journey. Forcibly, unfortunately, they were required to dock on one of the official landing sites once again, before venturing on the subway to Evango’s Aunt, Sentrilla’s, house several kilometres out from the city centre. If I were to describe the settlement of Mars Sky and the character of the suburbs, I would say this - absolutely filthy with decrepit spunk. You see prostitution was legalised several billions of years ago, and unlike you, who we wanted to be a noble bastion, many do partake in it. There are roads of course, but they are in fact much more like a christening castle than you might think. You see we have a defence strategy for meteorites and missiles, and it is called anti-ballistic. So there you go. It is like an Arabian desert. To arrive at the suburbs from the city centre, well yes the centre was golden and magnificent, all the walkways under tightly guarded parapets whereas as you ventured further outwards it became like a blazened desert walk with many of the parapets, I’m afraid to say, not working. Yes, yes, that is what we went for all the way - the streets are about the same size as Saddler Street, Durham. Yes, yes, it is actually just like Beijing, in fact yes exactly so - spot on!

​

Landing in the middle of a sky gliders’ Stansted airport, that next stage in a docking was to hand over your keys and watch the vehicle being driven underground by the propellers of the turntable robotic equipment. Yes, yes, it genuinely does happen. It was like a collapsing bridge folding in from underneath. Venturing down the alloy steps, you then submitted your passports for screening, went through the barriers and arrived at the entrance to the subway steps.

​

Chuck sauntered down the subway steps like the noble bastion he was. He was free and drilled into the noble awakening of life that had caressed him over the past 100 years. He wanted to saunter to Evango’s Aunt’s house that day and cherish the holy gatherings that stretched across that settlement like the bonds of a molecule. He was rich with the blessings of life, rich with the tokens of fortunance and stared at all his encounters like they were an elephant amongst an earthly rose bush. 

 

But not certain for sure, young fella, and if you think childhood and growth are some things to look forward to, you are sorely mistaken. But let us proceed to what it was like arriving at the forefront of a house. Bravo, now let me tell you. You see everything is under a parapet, I’m here to say. You rang a door bell, and the building, that was most probably very tall and we are dealing with an apartment, would have been made out of stone and bricks and iron - that is the combination we like. Oh so it’s quite post modern and like art nouveau - yes, yes, exactly like that but with more iron cladding. How tall would you say on average? About the same size as embankment, yes, yes, write that. There was some technological input, in the form of nothing, because you do not understand how much better for a society it is to be louche and like a vagabond. You do however take the lift which is a lot cooler and better, the door is roughly two times bigger because we are a lot taller and like more impressive things, and there you have it with yourselves arrived inside.

​

 

*********

​

Sentrilla passed around a cup of Memberon to all those sat around the table.  She was a warm, affectionate woman who glossed over the troubles of her life, but rather awaited the eager news about how her children were getting on in theirs. It was a form of sensuous pleasantries that beguiled the room by the mirage of her youthful appearance.

​

She paced over from the resplendent kitchen at the eastern wing of the building, and emerged, rising up a couple of steps into the living room in which they were all sitting. The living room, as would have been as such commonly to many, was usually comprised of four walls inner flanked by three sofas that by those days would have been made out of metal with emotive, but very thin, cushions. The walls were painted green with few paintings, but rather stainless steel technological items, in the form of rapid sensuous decorations. There was indeed not a fireplace but rather a token of lust in the form of a candle holder, by which I mean one of those hologram TV. Yes, yes, you have to think the future has created a pot smokers relaxation den, but they have improved themselves from those times and made it more refined. In the middle of the sofas was a stronger glassed coffee table and the carpet was usually pale blue with cream, not very shabby in creation, but instead a slimline gloss.

 

The room was like a morning hub dub, with each character eager to share pleasantries and engross themselves in the singular planet they lived in. Chuck raised a flute of Memberon to his mouth and dived into the conversation surrounding him. “It must be very hectic working for Station 20 news every morning,” he gesticulated intriguingly into the foray. “It seems everyone turns onto that news channel every waking moment of the day.”

 

Sentrilla glanced away from what she viewed as an insolent young scally way and glided her eyes towards the decorations perched on the walls. “It has its ups and downs,” she murmured fetishly.  “But it is not my jurisdiction, I’m afraid to say, to start unravelling the inner goings on of the company I work for you. You see,” she continued fervently. “There are parameters in this universe and it’s not like something I like doing when people come into my abode.”

​

Chuck blew his whistle forlornly into the air in front of them like an absent teenager. “Yeah… it just seems a bit strange,” he murmured, “that all the TV presenters congregate in fancy dress outfits every other evening song festival.” He paused and took of a sip of the Memberon. “All people want to know these days is that it’s a news that we can trust!”

 

Sentrilla brushed aside her lap like the thousands of years in prison she would get. “Well of course it’s a news you can trust,” she cried adamantly. “Why else would I be working for it?!”

​

Chuck lunched forward and peered at her like she were a monster in the darkness.  “It’s just last evening song all the presenters danced around like Neolithic rangers in some twisted street gathering.” He pressed. “It makes me think,” he continued, glancing at the window on the left side. “How do they appeal to any right-thinking individual across the whole of the cosmos?!”

​

Sentrilla shoved her Memberon cup on the glass table.  “That is derived from the singular class of their service and the exceptional might they have behind them,” she uttered viciously.  “There can be no ifs or buts in this society,” she pounced further, stretching towards her Memberon cup.  “And if you are not enjoying our service, please turn over to another channel.”

 

That did indeed bring about a short, but abrupt, end to their discussion about the TV networks, leaving Chuck with only whimsical remarks such as “I’m sure there’s something going on” and  “I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”  Before long, both Chuck and Evango departed from the beautifully decorated establishment and flew brightly and boldly back to Station B.  

​

 

*********

​

Two months had passed in the enduring haze of the background.  Chuck had occupied himself with a varied plethora of doing nothing other than toiling away positioning flags on the Martian desert and working out what could be the best route to take.

 

But it was a career that fascinated his soul like a looming pot of gold in a dragon’s nest.  He indeed, as did many of his generation, possess a hedonistic inclination to devell into the inner workings of his ambition and accomplishments.  What made him tick?  What furnished his out-lookings into the deserts?  What rose above him like the noble stallions he drove?

​

He wanted to know more about his past, and how he had arrived here on this planet.  How he had emerged from the chasms of the Oceans like the blessed Aphrodites he had tried to escape from on Earth.

 

He was a noble ranger of the Qlone province.  He had toiled for years and years building a living for himself and Station B.  Life was at his command.  He didn’t need to look further than the revolving pedestals cascading the way in front of him like some opaque dream.  It was not for the realms of Mars Sky, nowt for the pinnacles of Mount Oko, nor wretched for the shadows, that he was alive and burgeoning like the bustling browed serpents.

 

But he pondered to himself one more time.  Evango’s Aunt had said there was nothing wrong with the news.  She had said that she was proud to work for the station.  And that she was a noble bastion among noble bastions.  The winds, they said, scurried across these lands bringing hope and merriment to all its populace.

 

Then why did it all seem so strange to him?  Why did he every encounter in every street have a newfound sensation to it?  Why did his heart call out to a different universe?  Why did he dream?  It was time for a change, he told himself.  It was time to envelope something new and awaken the righteous brethren.

​

He paced over to the office room from his bedroom in which he was sat.  There was a mini bar, perched underneath one of the walls, and he pulled out an ice cold lightning bolt.  He strolled over to the long table at the centre and began to light up a cigarette of bliss.  He leant back and casually stretched his feet onto the table in front of him.  It had been several minutes of falling in love with the bliss cigarettes when finally Evango arrived solemnly in the vicinity of the room.

 

“Howdy partner!”  He cried fervently.  He then stared condescendingly at the quietness of the room.  “You look like an Earthian spinster drinking those lightning bolts all on your own.”  He murmured further.  He turned and glanced at the mini-bar like the forlorn worshipper of eccentricity he was.  “How’s about we crack open the Diamante on this occasion and celebrate lives endured these past many years?”

 

“If you must,” cried Chuck bemusedly.

 

Evango strolled over and rested on one of the chairs aside the table.  “Well I mean we could always light up the rest of the bliss cigarettes and explore a few crystals,” he blew aside tentatively.  “But where would the fun in that be?  And how would we waken up in the righteous treasure trove!?”

 

“Alright… alright,” cried Chuck in reply.  “Garcon… do the honours and light up this riviera!”

 

And so the couple opened up the bottle of Diamanté, which was to them in their celebrations of a very despondent thing, which no one thinks of, simply a bottle of the futuristic equivalent of champagne.  The alcoholic consumption was very high, but it was not indeed, I’m very proud to say, an intoxicant, but rather was fuelled with propellants from the membrane of the brain to harness untold riches in the further corteces.  The taste was like a bemused sensation of chocolate, I’m afraid to say, yes… in what way?  Well you see there is nothing better than drinking one of those juicy waters and enlarging it with a smothering, warming passion, unleashing absolutely everything into a warmth and crystallised frenzy. Ooh yes, well, they did indeed find themselves drinking it that spring morning.   As is the custom, I’m afraid to say, which absolutely everyone does, they smashed on the subwoofer (yes, yes, very very powerful) and collided into an envisioning of super collided frenzies, all the while being lit up like a bastion of emotive energy.

​

The drunken revelry had proceeded onwards for some time, before, douncing their crimes in a wretched dismay, akin to a lobotomy of blightedness, the fire bell unfortunately rang throughout Station B. You see this can sometimes happen, and it was indeed due to an attack on the residence. Looters had brought with them their proverbial criminality, and not untoward the scathing Viking raiders of Earth, it would naturally usher panic across the citadel. 

 

The pair of them, however, were in a drunken frenzy, unaware even of how to call the security team. In fact the mere sound of the fire alarm was very much in the background compared to the drumming bass of the subwoofers, and it appeared to them like the cascading rock fall was very much in India billions of miles away from them. The pair turned to each other drunkenly and agreed to journey to the bar above where they thought people would congregate. 

 

There, arriving at the bar, they could see Rem lying on the ground with blood across his forehead while being comforted by Imogen and Funat. Tapering bandages across his face like the by gone witches of England, they immediately turned around and looked at the pair approaching. “Rem was just making his way inside,” uttered Funat first. “He’d been taking photographs of the Martian desert when a caravan of looters emerged in front of him.” He paused, and tried to wipe some blood from the wretched chap’s face. “He tried to fall back into the compound but the looters breached the perimeter.” He sighed and looked at them forlornly. “It took the back up team from security to drive them back ayonder.” He smirked and looked at Imogen across him. “Fucking looters, eh! Fucking looters!” 

 

This could indeed happen on certain occasions, such as now, when we are actually very annoyed with those stalking you, who do not, it seems, want to be involved in a scientific enquiry. Nonetheless, we would promote a stable and steady grasp of your own security. 

 

Imogen was the first to step up and gestured towards Chuck. “Chuck… you could take Rem to the hospital in Aventure Park if you want.” She uttered at last. “You’re the best driver and it would get her there as quickly and safely as possible.” 

 

“Yes, alright…” replied Chuck calmly, surrounding himself in the toils of the ongoings. “We’ll leave at once!” 

 

The hospital of this neighbourhood was in fact the room just across from the mental health hospital that was the office, but there is something to be said for going to a medical centre where all this is taught and learnt and the practice devised. The much sought of baby wombs were in fact held in the government quarters, strictly off limits, and I don’t know why you’d want to go there, but there was indeed a medical centre, which the two people, being spiritual vagabonds, decided to venture towards.

​

​

*********

​

There, and much immersed in the surroundings of the hospital, the two pillars of society slotted their passports into the scanner for screening and were allowed to pass through into the inner realms. We are here talking of a creme de la creme politician, statesmen or senior figure’s last resort, the bulk of medical care actually just carried out by your doctors in the British Museum that was Station B. 

 

Yet notwithstanding that knowledge, the two ventured up the exotic lift that gleamed with a professional semi - holographic image. The lady portrayed seemed solemn, and forboding, which I’m afraid to say, left both with a feeling that they were not welcomed in these dwellings. Yet, that as much, at last the couple made it to entrance to the Martian equivalent of A&E and reported themselves at the office desk, before sitting down calmly in the waiting area.

​

The man who appeared before them was a sort of kaleidoscoping magician, who knew nowt all about medicine, but rather asked them intriguing questions such as “how did you get here so quickly” and “did you find us in the back cupboard smoking a joint?”  He was an austere man, who seemed to believe the pair of them were some kind of investigators in a crime scene. That said, he had a beguiling appearance that seemed to unwind and contradict their psyches. 

 

He withdrew his stethoscope like it were a sex toy in the red light district, and shoved it aboard Rem’s chest. “It’s nay bother me starting trifling around with your body, I presume,” he muttered whimsically. “You have a very refined corpus, I do say indeed!” He rested his hand up against Rem’s thigh and shoved him in the chest with the other. 

 

“Look… what are you doing?!” Interrupted Chuck abruptly. “He’s bleeding and needs urgent attention!” 

 

“Oh there’s many men bleeding out there,” cried the doctor in reply. “We’ll just see what this does to him!” The doctor grabbed a needle and attempted to shove it in Rem’s arm. 

 

“What are you doing???” Screamed Chuck, lunging in front of them. “You’re clearly not a proper doctor!” He shouted viciously. He grabbed his injured companion and the pair darted out the premises as briskly as their burgeoning fevers wound permit them.