13. Bowie & Oakley

Amateur occultist, nostrum selling shaman and charlatan spiritist Dr. Zyber Long first came to believe that Earth is a simulation when he had a dream of a prehistoric world without the presence of human beings. Strangely, in it, he was the only person present. But he felt that he had trespassed on forbidden land. He was not welcomed. Ancient eyes watched him from thick shadows, stared at him with a threat to violate. Rape him even, and rip him to pieces afterward. Dr. Zyber Long was not yet a doctor at the time of the night vision, in fact, he was never one. He only adopted the office out of marketing efficiency, a pseudo moniker gullible desperados lapped up. Dr. Zyber Long…nice ring to it. Better than Wong Boom Bong. He was still just normal, average Wong Boom Bong when he had that vivid dream nearing Christmas nineteen years ago when he was nineteen years of age. It shaped him, in a way, the catalyst for his name change and propellant toward a questionable career.

In the embrace of deep REM sleep, Wong Boom Bong explored this primitive landscape. One oddity that stuck out on him like a superpower was the uncanny ability to talk to animals. Though he instinctively felt that a certain malevolent force of Jurassic proportions was unfavourable of his nosey intrusions, he also sensed the laissez-faire attitude of most creatures. Fauna was suspicious of him no doubt, but they were also curious. And when a few stepped out of their caution to approach, Wong Boom Bong was stupefied by the astonishing reality that he could listen to the sounds they made. Behind those unique calls were unique voices, and the next thing his awareness picked up, he was already communicating. With wolves and crows and cats. Even with a serpent and some flies. Two wolves and two crows in particular, three cats and a fly named Zvuv were extremely communicative. The insect buzzed on and on about Jezzuz Chrizz, apparently there was some kind of operating cult even within Diptera circles. A hierarchy of faith and saviour complexes.

The noisy chatter suddenly evaporated to silence, and the mammals, corvids and reptile fled abrupt without saying goodbye. Only Zvuv stayed behind, buzzing unbothered. The air changed, the temperature dropped and a chillness draped Wong Boom Bong's bones. The life of the jungle died, an eerie echo hummed and sinister mists snaked around the muddy ground. The nineteen year old suddenly became very afraid as though an untold ancient evil from another dimension had made itself felt. The external babel of forest noises silenced and the internal thumping and pounding of human heart flooded Wong Boom Bong's eardrums. Zvuv's chatter morphed to a lower, deeper, metallic frequency, foreboding and ominous, but the fruit fly was no longer around. Instead the sound seemed to be the sound of the entire collective forest, the dreaded enchanted eternal jungle as a single enormous entity. And it was threatening and outright menacing.

Wong Boom Bong woke up sweat soaked, or so he thought, but he was still in the cavernous entrenches of the dream. The ominous low screech, digital, metal-like, as though a mechanical apparatus was speaking continued to terrorise young Wong Boom Bong, but it was not a language, just gibberish. Or if it was one, it was then a foreign tongue and Wong Boom Bong didn't know what to make of it other than to be utterly terrified.

He was at least glad to have ‘woken’ up in the comfort of his room, with a sliver of familiarity, but then the auditory horror did the unthinkable. The bassy shrieks sliced the air and the image before him ripped as though someone had put reality into a paper shredder.

Scared Wong Boom Bong fell in open space, disoriented, unsure of up or down. It was light, then dark, then the absence of colours before a rainbow shone. Then it was just white. He spun, white became black, then back to white again before the picture of his room started to piece together again, like a jigsaw composed of infinite pieces automatically coming in place.

Wong Boom Bong woke up for real this time, drenched in sweat, tired, still unsure of his wakefulness. His room felt unreal. He looked out the window. The neighbourhood in the dark of night was like staring at a canvas, he couldn't be sure of its certainty. His dream, or nightmare, seemed more realistic. More solid. He didn't have the word for it then, but when he was playing video games, days later, Mortal Kombat, he realized the answer he was searching for was ‘simulation.’ He was living in one. So was everyone else. And the void of his nightmare was a higher reality. That eventful night, by the window sill, breathing heavily and looking blankly into the suburban neighbourhood, staring at the neighbour's house with the orange garden hose coiled like a snake and the green lawn imitating a carpet, the gaudy blinking Christmas tree with an inflatable Santa halfway up the roof, a voice buzzed at his right ear. Zvuv was here to stay.

AI generated art prompted by author

Any similarities to persons and events are coincidental. Use of names of public figures, places and events are purely fictional and are not representative of them.