TV Dreams

Jamal had tried for so long to resist the threat of sleep, induced by the variety of images on the computer screen in front of him, but his strength was waning.

He was tied to a chair in a cell, deep underground. There were other inmates in neighbouring lockups who he had been able to communicate with, and they were all convinced, for some unknown reason, that to fall asleep in front of a screen would unleash some strange, monstrous force.

Jamal, who had been trapped underground for what must have been days, was still sporting a two-tone mod suit and a trilby hat. He’d been out partying at a Ska club just before he was kidnapped and imprisoned. Now he found himself in a cell that was more like a dingy seventies-style living room – fist dents on the wall and curtains backing onto endless nothing.

 A teenage Korean boy with a shaved head, leather jacket and biker boots, entered the room. He dumped a TV dinner on Jamal’s side table, causing Jamal’s eyelids to flutter open. Having just barely escaped sleep, he yelled at the Korean.

‘What do you want from me!? Why won’t you help?!’

‘Just go to sleep, everything will be revealed.’

‘No chance. Set me FREE.’

‘Just get it over with. You won’t be able to resist in the end. Soon They’ll come.’

‘Who’s They?’

‘You’ll see.’

‘Well, what do you know anyway, kid? You just woke me up.’

The boy flicked his jacket collar up and shrugged.

That night, everyone trapped in the depths of the earth were played footage of a girl singing a long, sad note. A siren’s song. All of them immediately drifted off into dreamless sleep.

Jamal was woken by an irresistible itch in his left eye. He felt a growth – something wriggling and squirming out of his tear duct. He was tempted to gouge the entity out, pluck it and kill it, but something told him that the growth was precious – that he should encourage it to flourish. And it did. Looking into the reflection of a spoon, Jamal could see something like a bug lodged inside his cornea, forcing itself against the surface. Gradually the bug expanded and Jamal’s eye split under the pressure. But he healed quickly, suffering only fleeting pain. Once the form had grown to the size of an adult humanoid, the membrane surrounding it was pierced. Red, green and blue pus gushed out. As the sheath deflated and sank, the Being, wrapped up in the foetal position, was exposed. It was human. But not. As the pus drained off its body Jamal could make out two arms, two legs and a face, yet there were no features – no nose, no mouth, no eyes. In their place were segments – tiny luminescent panels covering its entire body.

Throughout the transformation, Jamal was transfixed – taking in the spectacle with a mixture of ecstasy and terror. He struggled to liberate himself from his chains but to his surprise he realised he was already free and was able to roam around the room at will. He retreated to a corner, shaking in fear as the Being closed in on him.  Then the Being pressed its head next to Jamal’s. An electrical pulse shot through its body and up close the illuminated panels were dazzling. Then the being seized Jamal by the arms and dipped his head into Jamal’s head as if he were penetrating a pool of water and they dissolved into each other. A new, separate voice, perforated Jamal’s mind.

‘Let go now, I’m in control,’ thought the voice. ‘I won’t hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you, but you must follow me or you will suffer.’

‘Who are you? What do you want?’ said Jamal out loud, his field of vision completely encompassed by rays of colourful light.

‘Just relax into this experience, it’s best if you don’t think too much.’

‘Bullshit, you can’t just take over my mind without a fight.’

‘You have courage, that’s why you were chosen to represent me, but make no mistake, I am in charge.’

The Being shifted its whole essence into Jamal’s body with one swift movement. Jamal’s spirit tried to surge in revolt but the Being was able to dominate and Jamal’s efforts fell away. Jamal’s consciousness was consigned to the background of their shared identity.

The Being moved Jamal over to the door and banged on it several times. After a few minutes, locks unfastened and the door swung wide open revealing a long hallway illuminated by evenly spaced spotlights. Men and women, hosting Beings inside them, just like Jamal, marched by in a coordinated procession.

The Being directing Jamal made him fall in line and he trooped his way into a lift and ascended to the surface of the city with six fellow obedient hosts.

After a minute, the lift reached the top. It exited into a haunted house in a funfair by a beach. Groups of hosts slipped out of the haunted house unnoticed and dispersed into the rest of the crowd that were milling about in the fair. Hosts made their way to the local train station and Jamal followed suit.

Jamal was directed to take a seat in an empty carriage and the train blasted into the city, splitting the night in two. As each stop passed, people swirled in and out of the coach until finally a police officer took a seat opposite Jamal. This was Jamal’s opportunity. He mustered the full force of his spirit and was able to edge out a few words, ‘Help! Help me!’

‘What was that, son?’ said the officer.

The Being fought back, struggling to control Jamal’s body, making Jamal look like he was having an epileptic fit.

‘Son, are you OK?’

Jamal continued to tremble but his rebellion was quelled for the most part – his neck loosening, his shoulders relaxing.

The Being said, ‘It’s OK officer, I have a condition but it’s under control. I’ll be fine, thank you.’

The policeman alighted at the next stop, concerned for Jamal but far from suspicious.

The Being sent a thought to Jamal, ‘It will make your existence less painful if you don’t resist.’

‘I give in,’ thought Jamal, ‘I can’t match your strength. I don’t understand what you want from me but I won’t get in your way any longer.’

‘Don’t feel so sorry for yourself. Like I said before, I don’t want to hurt you. All I want is for you to cooperate,’ thought the Being, ‘This is our stop.’

Jamal was directed to step off the train and climb the stairs to the exit. A number of other people, clearly hosts too, walked with them until they split off and went their own ways. Jamal hiked along a quiet side road until they arrived at a row of houses, detached, spacious and enveloped by the dark.

‘We are here to collect people,’ the Being thought. ‘We are looking for insomniacs. They have a certain sensitivity which we need. We look for them in the suburbs because they are easier to detect.’

‘You don’t have to explain yourself,’ thought Jamal.

‘Listen, let me tell you something. I have been incarnated many times and have wrestled with many hosts. You have proved yourself to be one of the toughest. You resisted sleep for so long and when I was born you exhibited far less fear than is expected. I want you to know that I respect you. It might not mean anything to you now, but in time I hope to gain your respect as well. Be my ally and we can work together to change reality.’

Before he could reply, Jamal was led down the side alley of a house. He clambered over the gate and into the garden. Then he was directed to break the glass of the back door and it was done. The tinny pitch of a TV set reverberated around the ground floor of the house.

In the living room, an insomniac in an armchair, was captivated by the television screen, showing an infomercial about cleaning products. He was completely unaware of Jamal’s presence. The Being positioned Jamal so he stood behind the insomniac’s chair. The Being detached its hand from Jamal’s hand, though the rest of the Being remained enclosed in its host. The Being’s hand glistened like a hundred precious jewels and he placed it on the crown of the insomniac’s head causing his eyes to snap shut. The insomniac switched the TV off with the remote control. He immediately turned it on again and what appeared on the screen was a live image of the surrounding room.  A voice from the TV speakers said, ‘What’s going on? Where am I?’

The Being guided Jamal to take the insomniac by the hand and as soon as he did so the insomniac stood upright and walked over to the TV, unplugged it and carried it under his free arm. Despite the fact the insomniac’s eyes were closed, and the TV wasn’t connected, his viewpoint was still projected on the television set.

Through the TV speakers, the insomniac said. ‘Stop, will you? Please stop.’

A splash of red exploded on the screen – a representation of his emotions – and then died down until the room could be seen again.

‘Let’s go,’ thought the Being, ignoring the insomniac’s complaints, forcing him and Jamal out of the house, retracing their steps along the side streets and finally arriving back at the train station. The rest of the hosts were there too, holding hands with their own insomniacs – eyes closed, carrying unplugged TV or PC screens, transmitting various sounds and images directly from their minds.

The trains had stopped running, so the Beings ordered everyone to lower themselves onto the tracks and begin their journey back into the city on foot.

As the strange group trekked along, birds gathered in the sky overhead. The insomniacs’ screens called out to them in high-pitch frequencies and shone spotlights in the air in celebration.

‘You haven’t thought anything in a while. What’s running through your mind?’ the Being thought, sending it to Jamal.

Jamal thought, ‘I want to talk to him, the man who’s hand I’m holding.’

‘Oh really? Why?’ thought the Being.

‘Isn’t it obvious? Because he must be struggling, or confused at the very least. Maybe I could help him.’

‘He seems happy enough now.’

‘Maybe so, but I’d like to try.’

‘I know you have a headstrong nature so I won’t stand in your way, go ahead.’

‘Hello, there,’ said Jamal, addressing the insomniac. ‘Things must be very stressful for you at the moment. I’m certainly finding the situation difficult myself. Feel free to say what’s on your mind. You won’t be in any danger, I’ll make sure of that.’

There was no response.

‘But if you don’t want to talk maybe you could just tell me what your name is?’

‘My name is Robert and I’m fine,’ said the insomniac through the TV, ‘at first I believed I was just being used, but now, after some thought, I have no problem with the way things are.’

‘But don’t you just want to break free?’

‘No, I don’t. I realise I’m in good hands. I’m happy. There’s no need to worry.’

‘You see?’ thought the Being, ‘I hope this proves I only want the best for you and Robert.’

‘I have nothing left to say,’ thought Jamal, defeated.  ‘Just lead the way.’

Everyone arrived at a locked park in the centre of town. They climbed over the gates and congregated at the open space on top of the hill.

It was then that the insomniacs took over, knowing exactly what to do without guidance. They let go of their hosts’ hands and immediately the screens they were carrying shut down. Their eyes opened and they began placing their TV and PC screens on the grass, interlocking them like stones in a country wall, vertically, as well as flat along the ground, facing up. The hosts waited in a line; heads lowered as if in prayer.

After an hour the insomniacs had created a giant bowl of stacked blank screens. The insomniacs climbed out, passed the hosts, and drifted off aimlessly into the night as if waking steadily from a dream.

Images suddenly reappeared on the screens, scrolling by furiously, rushing from one picture to the next – wars, porn, sports, sitcoms, adverts and electronic music.

One of the hosts entered the centre of the bowl. Suddenly he became a blur as the Being inside the host stepped out and revealed its true shape. TV and PC screens shone their crisp light into the Being and it lit up. Then it stepped back into the host’s body, his skin glowing. The TV sets died down as the host exited the arena and ran out of the park.

‘What just happened?’ Jamal thought.

‘Never mind,’ thought the Being in charge of Jamal. ‘I won’t force you to take part in this ceremony no matter what the others say.’

‘But what are they doing? I want to know.’

‘Remember when I first took over your body? Well, that is only temporary. We need to go through this process to make the change permanent.’

‘More abuse.’

‘No. This is just how things have been for decades. There’s really… Actually, what am I talking about? Time after time this ritual occurs and I just go along with it without protest. I’m sick to death of it, sick of the pretence.’

As Jamal and the Being were communicating; more hosts took their turn to be transformed.

‘Let me see what it’s like to be in your shoes,’ Jamal thought.

‘What? Why? No, that’s not how it works.’

‘I want to know what it feels like to be you. It’s only fair. I’ve sacrificed my body for you and who knows if I’ll ever be the same or whether I’ll ever see my wife or child again.’

The Being remained silent.

‘Do it or so help me god I’ll find a way to destroy whatever it is that’s going on here.’

‘There’s no point threatening me but I can give you what you want. Just promise me that you will listen to what I say so everything runs smoothly. There are rules for a reason.’

‘OK, OK,’ thought Jamal, ‘I’ll do whatever it takes, I just want to be you.’

The Being led Jamal into an area of the park where no light could reach. The process began. Energy flowed through Jamal’s spine, causing him to stand erect. Then he felt as if the full force of a jet engine was powering through him. He struggled not to scream. He clenched his fists, and fell to his knees. Jamal opened his eyes and looked around, disillusioned, convinced nothing had changed. Everything was in its place – the trees, the grass and giant bowl of TV sets that were blaring away in the background. Then Jamal looked down at his feet. He could see his body, separate, laying in a heap in front of him. Jamal held out his hand and twisted it in the shadows. It sparkled with electricity. He had swapped bodies with the Being.

The Being, now totally in control of Jamal’s body, looked drained and wan. He said, ‘This has taken more out of me than I thought. I don’t have long to live like this and you won’t either. You’ve experienced what it’s like to be me, now let’s swap back.’

Jamal took the Being’s hand so he could communicate and thought, ‘I don’t think I’ll return to my body any time soon. I’ve never felt so alive and I’m not going to throw it away.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said the Being, suffering under the weight of his new frame. ‘I will die whether I’m in your body or mine, but you will be able to survive if you return to your original form. If not, then you will die too.’

‘Why should I believe you? You just want your power back. You’ve done nothing but order me about from the very beginning and I’ve had it.’

‘Why would I swap bodies with you if I didn’t have good intentions?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care anymore. All I know is I feel great and I don’t want it to stop.’

Jamal inhaled through his panelled body, starting slow, then getting deeper and faster, until he began to hyperventilate. He glowed in the night and everything seemed to become quiet. He began to jog, gaining speed until he jetted out of the park and into the surrounding streets. He accelerated so fast he became a hazy blur, shooting through one neighbourhood after another. He kept up the momentum – the life force flooding through him, until he peaked and began to slow, quickly feeling as if he was treading through treacle, becoming a shadow of his former self. He began to limp and people in the busy central streets started to notice him – shocked by his strange physique. He collapsed to his knees and the crowd pointed and gossiped amongst themselves, unsure whether they were watching some strange street performer.

Jamal realised he had to find cover and he crawled into a side alley. He rested his weary body on scraps of discarded newspaper. Each of the panels covering him had its own vivid colour, but now they were dying like embers in a fire. There was a skip opposite Jamal and poking out of one corner was an old-style television set. Jamal felt a strange compulsion to salvage it so he trudged over to the skip and tugged the TV free. Despite being old it was in good shape – the glass screen polished and without a scratch. 

Jamal collapsed back down amongst the newspapers and placed the TV beside him. The panels on his body ignited with colour. Then the TV vibrated and flashed in return. The glare from the TV steadily increased, until it shone with the intensity of fireworks. Jamal shifted his body closer to the TV and hugged it as if he were cradling a child. The glass felt soft and stretchy like a balloon. He wanted to thrust his head into the TV screen and be ensconced by its soothing embrace.

Until now, he hadn’t given a moment’s thought about the life he led prior to being kidnapped – for example, the little girl he and his wife had adopted only a couple of years ago. She had never felt comfortable in her new home and she hadn’t taken to Jamal at all. The child suffered from epilepsy. He remembered how she had a fit whilst watching a movie he’d recommended to her and it had scared the life out of him. He couldn’t handle that kind of responsibility. How could he protect someone so vulnerable? How could he make her love him? So, he went to clubs and found solace in music. And then he woke up, chained in an underground cell.

But now things would be different. He just needed to get some sleep and then he’d be prepared to face the world. He felt the television absorb his body – swallow it whole. Somehow, he believed he was being given another chance – to be reborn. He was ready to face his dreams and his nightmares. Ready to take back control of his own mind and finally become the being he always needed to be.