The Eye of the Beholder
By Michael S. Collins


Recently I lost a dear friend, and am still in shock. When I ask about life, my main thought is this: “Are we susceptible to all forms of life, or are there dimensions of life that exist beyond our own parameters we remain oblivious to?” How different would it be if we could see beyond our limitations? Despite his paranoia, I suspect that in his final hours the late friend had done so.

My friend John was an alcoholic. He started on the Alcopops, but quickly descended to the spirits. His family disowned him; he lost his job and very nearly his philosophy. They say when a man tries to recover from his vices he turns to God. John was an atheist, and turned to conspiracy theories. This made him even more paranoid.

I remember our last drinking session well. It was a Thursday in February, and I’d been pacing my drinks through the night. John had slipped back off the wagon. Rows of discarded bottles lined the bar as, tired by the Staropramens that filled his day, John had moved on to Jack Daniels. Rants on sexuality and politics filled the air.

The night was getting on, and near closing time, it was finally time to leave. I felt no ill effect. John, however, stumbled a fair bit. At the top of the outside stairs, he lost his footing and fell, bashing his head off the final stair and rolling over. He got up again before I could reach him, a dazed look of concussed triumph on his face.

“I meant to do that,” he said.

And off he staggered home. I would have thought nothing of it had this not been the beginning of the end for John.

***

Three days later, I got a phone call, from John in some distress.

“We need to meet”, he said, “It’s urgent.”

“What’s up?”

“I’ve so much to show you, to tell you about the world that we live in.”

“Are you feeling ok?”

“No, for the first time in my life I can really see. And I’m scared! I can see it all. The worlds below, the worlds above, the different spectrum. The dead cousin who keeps returning. Every scope of life which our minds remained blocked to.”

Not the sort of closing gambit you ignore in a hurry. So, we met up.

***

John had changed. He was sober for one, and refused drink of any sort!

“How are you?” I said.

“Terrible.” He dropped straight into what troubled him. “Everything we think we know is wrong. There are more colours than we can sense. More sounds than our eardrums pick up. Life screams! Everything screams in pain, from droplets of water in a puddle to a dog’s bone. In agony, and we never hear it. I can hear it now.”

“How do you know this?” I said.

“Because I can hear it. I hear everything. This world exists beyond our parameters. I can see it. The ghosts that walk among us, the creatures invisible, and worst of all, the Gods!”

“The Gods?”

“Yes, the Gods. They’re everywhere, starring down at us. Twisted. Evil. A flick of the wrist, causing death. I saw one snap its finger and cause a car crash. Everything we do is down to these creatures. We are insubordinates in their nature.”

John was getting hysterical.

“I have sat through this, three days straight.”

“Maybe you need a drink.” I went to take his hand.

“No, stay away from me.”

He dived up and ran through the doors. I sprinted after him. He was on the street before he stopped.

“Why can’t you see them?” he said.

“I don’t know. Should I?”

“I wish you could”, said John, “They’re pointing at us.”

He ran off. He never saw it coming. John was too busy involved in his other dimensions out-with our own experience, to notice the taxi that hit him.


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My name is Michael S Collins and I am a member of GSFWC (the Glasgow Strange-Fiction Writers Circle). I have been published in several countries (including Literature E-zine websites, ad writing for Bob Furnell) and do book review for magazines such as The Fortean Times. My short fiction has appeared in magazines such as Aesthetica, Clockwise Cat, The Short Humour Site, MicroHorror, TBD, and was included in the DemonMinds anthology in 2008.