The chlorinated water stung her eyes. Daisy continued to grimace, holding her breath and paddling her arms amid graphic stingrays and intermittently exiting bobbing jellyfish. The clock’s numbers were vibrantly green and for everyone waiting in the pool hall, silence waiting for Daisy to come up again.
That should do it. One red bling and one blue, right? She dove down deep to retrieve the metaphysics, opened her sight side and slipped each bling around one elbow at a time. She started to feel pressure building up and the water was shifting to purple. She knew, she only had so long to carry herself back to the top.
The audience gasped. Would she make it up in time? Nothing was blinging. The tiny green flags that sporadically twitched began releasing scents of star anise. The animals started to exit. They’ve seen enough of this to know, they had won once again. Even Shady and Slime left carrying newspapers and bamboo fibre mugs filled with nothing.
Daisy was officially up and her yellow-lime green suit still had a bit of light going off. She carefully pruned her wet hair and felt a bit of black grease on the surface of her fingers, making her starved. Is someone going to bring me a ham and cheese biscuit? It didn’t seem like it. It seemed freezing. Off-putting, really. She shook her head in a frenzy.
Down at the disco tech, animals mingled with Others and creatures of all kinds. This particular store had been up since 1915, although only known to mankind since 2020. It became an entranceway for exportation. Stuff like new bed reclines or barbecued pork chop muffin tins. A disco tech was not so much for dancing anymore. It was a space for replacing products and services that required an elevated case.
Daisy only visited once a year. She brought two blings, hoping to exchange them for sweet lemons and grass seed. When she would be able to return home, she hoped to plant both, growing an aromatic space conducive to Each Other showing their faces once again. She missed them. When they left there were no more sarcastic antics, there was no more commenting.
Seventeen clutched her way through the jungly roughage, trying to bring sight back to her millions, in a way so they could both understand. Their relationship was deep, so deep that they barely communicated anymore. Thoughts were transmuted through IT or in sets of threes (the three most dominant voices in Daisy’s mind – Being, Artha and Manipura). It was hard to decipher love during digital warfare. She was right across from him, but they were a thousand years apart. He looked away, confused and horrified.
She sweated once. The mirror sang. They both waited for the reflection of Being; the union of Elevententeen.
Fighting is not complicated, it’s wrong. We should not resort to id. So, where does our ego belong?
The train made its usual stop at Chon. Chon was the last remaining urban centre, where transforming humans dabbled in post consumerist delights like colourful French macarons and antique Balenciaga dad pants. It was a place for fun and rest.
Daisy sat up. She was awake for the last little while finishing her sandwich and still wondering about Mr. Beaver in the hat. He was gone, probably somewhere between Life Space and Elevententeen. She was happy to be at Chon. She wondered if her best friend from Calgary was there, Linz. Linz worked for WestJet, a now defunct flight carrier that was sold off to Indigo, a distributor of Paradise Colours. Really, this world was so different now. The practice of social marketing was a language in and of itself. Depending on one’s digital cognition, social marketing could provide sustenance to an audience or increase the relativity of binary disease. After all this time, survival of the fittest was still the game. Humans don’t want to be sick. They don’t want to be dead or living. They want to breath and do regular things.
As she stepped off the bus (she’s been off the train for A Day now), Daisy headed to the Nike outlet so she could change her clothes into something more beguiling. Her mind thought of lime green, neon orange polka dots and always-always white eyelet lace. Daisy picked something out. While waiting, she made her third eye blind to prevent identity thieves, then headed to the wall of bags to pick something to put everything in.
Her next stop was Yoga Passage. It was time to reset and recharge. Yoga these days was literally a moment to decompress. Everything left your body as your soul lay suspended in a hue of neon pink. Rearranging locations and transformations, so you could see properly. Daisy practiced yoga once, when she was young and did not finish her teacher training practice. Alice from Wonderland stopped a sour pursuit of a man named Justin Patterson as he would have led her to a full-fledged intoxicated state. The relationship was stopped by a major car alternative. Laying in Savasana, Daisy fondled her mat, remembering that life filled with creativity and ideas that could have shut this place to smithereens. She closed her lids and drifted off into space. She could see letter zs italicized, drifting into time followed by baby emoji apples and puffy digital rainbows. It was the stuff of her man-made life.
Do you see blue or yellow?
Daisy was out, then she arose. She could feel the left side of her neck, bent out of shape and sore from sleeping on it bent. And the train was still moving across moist carpeted land or moss coloured greenery, however you wanted to see it. The trees, they looked like LEGO pieces. She didn’t quite understand when she transitioned back, but she was glad to be here smelling the faint stink of a ham and cheese biscuit.
You don’t actually want to see the workings of Elevententeen. What’s behind it is extremely frightening. The framework is made up of spider-like grids, when you see it, they move and pulse like a living thing. Daisy shuddered just at the mere thought of it. She quickly patted her yellow eyelet dress to ensure it was still in existence. Another way to halt the screams (screams occurred when your brain computed the framework) was to enter Elevententeen with a very specific wardrobe, preferably containing bold colours, patterns and texture.
Sighing, Daisy remembered what it was like in social media school learning about plain stuff. Graphic art and design attributes were existential now, they served no purpose. People only wanted multi-dimensional graphics, that breathed and pulsed and held meaning. I guess altering genetics in 2019 completely erased the human need for new things and surprisingly, technology. It no longer occurred. It was too fickle and rambunctious; nobody cared. It was now about Artha, Manipura and finding pure bling that could get you back through the framework unnoticed.
There were no humans on the train today, only empty seats and a refined beaver quietly sipping his Earl Grey. “Well, he looks…dry and relaxed, so he must have come from the land.” The beaver heard and adjusted his frames while cocking his head North East. He wanted to see if he could grab the newspaper from thin air instead of having to hold it in his hands. Paper was so archaic, he thought. Daisy wasn’t sure if he noticed her. Her heart skipped a beat and stopped for a moment as he again adjusted himself out of what looked like discomfort. Inhaling a deep breath, they both fell deeply asleep. The reflection on the mirror was blank. Someone had switched time and space again. What was going to happen?
Pink plastic covered their heads. Depending on the nature of their state, faces could also be erased. The way back to Being was a way to Manipura. And if one could count, it would be to Artha. To be found: sunny and bright Elevententeen.