Alone in the Universe

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It was good to be alone. Miles was not as gregarious as the company he kept implied. Eileen had gone with her Irish coven to Agbor for the weekend, the Guinness boys were in Lagos, John was having a two day massage. Miles had obtained a Tupperware sandwich box of sticky weed, and videos of Jacob's Ladder and All That Jazz: life had been worse. In years to come, the fat cone - fat at one end only, obviously - he had assembled for himself may become known as the Camberwell Carrot, but for now, it just looked like a fat spliff. Miles stuck Jacob's Ladder into the VCR, placed the remote on the sofa and 'lit that candle'.

All motive force left Miles' body and passed into his mind. He obsessively considered the possibility of twitching a finger over the 'play' button on the remote, but he would have to turn his head and there would be sound and in any case, his finger refused to budge. Having stared at it for several hours or moments, Miles was suddenly deeply aware of how fucking boring his ceiling was and elected to close his eyes against its stained whiteness. His middle finger twitched on the button but pressed not. Miles breathed.

A flesh-eating alien latched onto Mile's face and inserted a vile tendril into his mouth. He was sucked into the world of Sigourney Weaver and James Caan. The alien from outer space, or rather the gecko from the ceiling, headed north, circumnavigated his eyebrows, turned south and shot into the neck of his shirt, spraying acerbic urine where ere it went. It exited his shirt via the left sleeve and departed Miles' electrified corpse by way of the tip of his index finger.

Miles had not, in fact, even twitched. The spliff was still between his finger and his eyes closed. The gecko piss began to burn. Miles toked a took. He felt a sensation in his head and understood the aetiology of a mind that had been boggled. Cold sweat beaded on his skin and immersed him. Gecko piss blistered his eyelid.

Miles knew that the gecko had shared his experience. It had felt fear: imaginative, existential fear. It was not a mere bag of synapses firing in the fittest of possible ways. Miles knew that the gecko has fallen through space into the huge mouth of a pandimensional terror and escape with tail in tact. Aliens, the dumb gecko knew, were real. Miles knew the gecko had been subject to imagined fears. Miles knew the gecko had imagined everything. Reflex was not enough. Miles knew he was a flesh eating alien and the gecko knew it was lucky to be alive. Gecko piss blisters beaded in his lip and his index finger twitched. Geckos understand luck. Miles knew knowledge was powerless and ignorance piss.

Miles descended Jacob's Ladder. He knew he was not alone.

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