Raaronga
by JB Willey


Let me tell you of a solar system and things past it. At its heart is fire and over that fire orbit tubes of compressed meat, lakes of beer marinade evaporating off their hot surfaces. The next system of worlds is a ring of eyes, the reflective surfaces of orange-faced planets tilted to their energy source. Bigger worlds of meat. In addition to these stable bodies is a satellite on an irregular orbit, a creature propelled on four legs that sucks down bottles held to it as if weaning at its mother’s tat, the filthy beer hound. Further out still from our campfire star are the animals we can’t see, eerie wailing sounds like nightmare babies drifted in on goat’s breath from light-years away, dark stars.


Back to the second orbit where two of the eyes are mine, a second pair belongs to my associate Nellis, and the remaining four I don’t trust. I don’t even trust their dog, not with the amount of lager they’ve been feeding it. An interstellar dusting of bitter sap rains down on us from the pine canopy.


Nellis and I find ourselves camped out in shield woodlands this fine evening with a pair of lifeforms named Skyles and Cutberto, halfway between our respective cities. Under the employ of the renegade chemist Dr. Wolfgang LeVram, acclaimed drug innovator, our work often places us in such exotic locales as Lake Raaronga as we are willing to go the distance for clients. Dr. LeVram is known for offering the epicurean user a unique pharmacopoeia based around his knowledge of tryptamines and his ability to modify their effects by blinging out molecules with extra functional groups. In fronting the delivery end, I navigate and act as frontman while Nellis mainly drives.


On today’s menu is something I’ve never heard of before called cinematol, or cin for short. On the drive up Nellis said he heard the narcotic supposedly combined the head-swelling ego-surging power of cocaine with the psychedelic effects of mushrooms. I couldn’t imagine. “You take that stuff and you’re starring in your own epic fantasy movie” Nellis told me, “the plot turning at your every thought.”


I simply have to hand Skyles and Cutberto a package and collect payment. But we’re always on guard as you just never know when a client is legit. The two joined us at our site right after dark and accepted our offer of beer and hotdogs. In the glowing darkness on the far side of the log-fueled sun these two characters are a pair of tongue-wagging dogs eager for the treats in my pocket. “No middlemen involved” I tell them, “this is straight from LeVram’s private lab.” “This is cinematol?” says Skyles, eyeballing the gummy extract removed from the package. “Certified.” He gives me a look and then asks if I’ve tried it. “No but I can vouch for its quality.” He scoffs. “You’re a mule that doesn’t even know what’s on its back!” Incredulous he twists off a little chunk. “Here’s a pinch for you. Don’t try that here though, wait till you’re chained down somewhere safe.” He laugh wheezes, “that’s some crazy shit.” “Listen” says Cutberto, “hear that? I just saw something in the bushes.” “Shut up.” “Seriously man.” Skyles gets up for a look but sees nothing. “Stop being fucking paranoid.”


Earlier that day and further out in the galaxy Nellis and I canoed to some glyphs. They didn’t make any sense, just lines and squiggles of faded ochre. Continuing on we came across a man in a lifejacket lowering himself down a precipice with a rope, the fool. Two of his friends were nervously watching him from the water. Lake Raaronga carried us past forlorn woodland before we reached church groups picnicking on segregated beaches. Being idiots we couldn’t help shout warnings at them. “Look out for the Boston steamer!” On past multiple Canadian-looking families of the same general appearance, the usual configuration being a middle-aged man at stern, younger wife at bow and small child between them. Dutifully friendly hellos. Sometimes a grandpa and grandma with grandchild in the middle, their expressions turning to horror when they saw the red of our eyes or was it just me?


Skyles and Marvo finally leave us for their own campsite, their dog stumbling after them. Maybe three hours later I’m startled out of a dream by screaming. Confusion as to what’s going on as Nellis is awake too and we zip down the tent fly and peer out. Blood curdling yells and a dog barking and the sound of stamping through leaves getting louder and then we see a body flying through the underbrush, a streaking comet of human anguish. We catch a dull flash of Cutberto, naked and shouting incomprehensible syllables and running at what must be his absolute top speed. Lights appear around us like stars blinking on as other campers are awoken to the disturbance. “It’s the cin” says Nellis. “Sin?” “The cinematol.” Observing the deranged asteroid I brace for a possible impact. “Two more satisfied space walkers. Let’s launch.” Hurriedly packing things up we are compelled to an early start to our day, a day bearing an uncanny resemblance to night.


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JBW was guided by the mind's eye from a young age: fantasies and daydreams, art and music. Then he was institutionalized, granted education and disciplined in hard science. Thankfully he recovered years later to rediscover the thrills of creativity, making music, attempting art, and succumbing to the word plague.