Chapter 27 - Ginger, are you feeling okay?

The breeze is still carrying me, leaving behind trails of my blood for people to follow. But I have no option. The breeze seems to have taken me to a dark place now, a dark place that is so, so empty and so, so vast. I am lost in this place, and it may be space, but I am not entirely sure. There is no light source, yet I am clearly lit up, visible, despite the pitch-blackness. I am standing on nothing. There are no walls, or any kind of support anywhere around, yet I am motionless, calm. It sounds like a relatively normal place to be, I know. But this is where I am. I cannot move, I find. There is no air here, either, but I cannot move. I can move my legs, as if walking, but I go nowhere. There is no sense of motion. I try to swim, but there is no sense of forward movement. I try a different ploy. By tensing up my body, I suddenly jerk myself and success! I have moved forward. By jerking myself, I am able to inch my way to nowhere, but I feel it is worth it. At least I know that I can now do it. 

And out of this imaginary light source come the rays of light, as arrows, and they pierce my body, they stick and some miss. They drive through my face, burn my skin and yet, despite the destruction, those that hit are stopped by my body. If I look behind me, I can see a me shaped hole in the flying arrows that missed. The hole is caused by me, it is my shadow. I realise that this is a dangerous place to be and I have to get back to the spot that I started off in, the homely spot. 

I jerk myself around so that I face in the other direction. There is not much of a difference in what I see. I jerk myself in this new direction. I reach where I started off from, but try as I might, I cannot find that original homely spot. It’s like making a movement in bed. You have carved out the ideal position in bed, when you have to scratch yourself or some such thing. The tiniest movement and you can never find the original comfortable position again. That is what this is like. 

I know that I am getting so annoyingly close, but there is a warm part of me and one cold part, or my head itches whereas my legs are in suspended bliss. And then the breeze blows me away and I struggle to stay where I was, but I will never be where I was. That homely spot is fading away, right now. 

After so long, as time does not exist here, I don’t think, I slow down. I feel so far away, my body goes into shivers and I start screaming out, but there is nothing. Even if my voice could be heard there would be no one to hear it, but that’s not why I scream. I scream because there is something inside me that I have to let out. I feel it in my stomach many times and I feel it in my chest. I feel it and it doesn’t go away. It grows and it draws energy from me. It is not a thing, but it is there and I never know what to do. It is a pressure that is insurmountable. It is the feeling that tells me who I am. I dislike that. It becomes me and I hate it. But it does not care because it hates me too, so I have to scream because I almost cannot breathe. I open my mouth and a power that I never knew before surges out of my mouth. I have no control of it, but this is the only way to release it, and release it I must, by forming this language that only I can speak, but everyone can understand. And the pressure jumps away and I now feel nothing inside me because I released too much of myself, causing me to become dejected and sad and disappointed by myself, humiliated and threatened, destroyed. 

So I have to lie down. But there is nowhere to lie down here. I have to let the strength come back to me which comes through the force of tears, if I can cry that is. If not, I just have to lie here, but my shadow comes into this place and I speak to it. I ask, why do you look so sad? It tells me, because I always die. This sounds like such a sad comment and I ask, why do you always die? It tells me because the sun will come and I live and then the sun will go away and then I will die. It tells me that it always gets swallowed up by bigger shadows which makes it feel un-empowered. But I say to it, but you always live the next day. And it tells me, that is what the problem is. There will always be another day, another time that I will live again. I always hope that, when I die, it will be the final time. But it never is. There will always be another rebirth. It tells me that, one day I will die and I may be buried, or I may be cremated, but either way, I shall be out of the sun's rays and then I, the shadow, can finally be lain to rest. It tells me that it’s a difficult life, that it is painful and that it is never ending. Because when it does end, it can only start all over again. I have no idea what to say. I can just look, look at my shadow which, with the passing of the invisible light, has caused it to grow and to stretch. 

It is a falseness, the life it leads is only a false life as it has no power over itself. No power at all. It can only lead its life according to the will of others and of nature. It exists only to be in existence. And it has the power of night, because of its hatred of the sun, which the shadow opposes. So it tries to grow the power of night. But it is that small, weak and feeble that it will never have the true effect of night. And then night comes and it swallows the shadow. Is that a life to lead? 

The breeze pushes me away, again, whilst the shadow gently weeps. And I am taken back to the air vents. Here I am not under the influence of utter vastness, instead an opposing claustrophobia caused by the lack of space, confined. I am cramped and my legs are filled with a dread, a sensation that makes them want to violently kick out and release myself. I have to control this as well as the panic induced by the clear lack of escape. I have to get out and every time I see an exit, I have a desperation to get there, a hope that I can get out. But, each time, the room is occupied. The desperation to get out can only mount and the hope that rises more and more each time, can only have further to fall each time that it is destroyed. 

Finally I find the room. It is empty, but I force myself to wait. Force myself to endure the horror of waiting in this space. The excuse being that I want to make sure that it will remain unoccupied, that no one has left the room only for a short while. Finally I consider it safe and I get out of this place, a slight disappointment as I have to leave the nightmare to return to a more normal place. That I am no longer marked out because of this torture.

I look around me. It is a kitchen, I believe. There are work surfaces, kitchen utensil shaped instruments, and, oh no! I hope it’s not an operating theatre or something. Yet, when I look in the cupboards that surround the room, there is what looks like food, which sings to me. Somehow, the idea of eating something that looks alive does not appeal to me. I’ve always known that the reason why I can eat meat is because beef looks nothing like a cow. Though this may be a chance to eat, so I had better take advantage of it. Mind you, it’s not that easy. I look for something that may look vaguely recognisable, but there is not much here. Surely they, too, have some vaguely flour based products that may not revolve around plants that would be poisonous to my digestive system? Surely they have some bread type products, or cake, or biscuits, or something? 

I choose something. It’s like a flat pastry-type Mexican-thing. I have no idea what it is, whether you can eat it raw or if it needs to be cooked, what type of toppings it has or is it designed to be eaten on it’s own? Is it going to be nice or bog standard, like bread for instance? It just looks so absolutely plain. I hold back for a minute, but the gamble will be the same whatever it is I pick out. Does it sing to me? No. A good factor. It doesn’t wave and it’s not moving, two other good factors, so I put it into my mouth and I bite and I chew. It’s not too bad, though it is a bit plain. I guess I should not be too surprised. As long as it fulfils basic dietary requirements, I’ll be happy.

Shit! A Thought! Am I being watched! Are there spies? I’ve exposed myself, can I be that stupid? I look around, desperately, looking for something, anything, people, objects that look like they should not be here. Nothing looks like it should be here, but what do I know? Nothing seems out of place, I guess, and there is nobody lurking in any corners, though the feeling of being watched, of still being trapped has not gone away. I cannot leave this room, though. That’s obvious. But can I?, is the question. How busy is this place, really? Is it stacked to the gills, full of aliens like sardines trapped in a can? Or is the size of this place all for show? I want to know. I want to find out. 

I have to explore. Find out what makes up this place. I don’t recognise it and, for a moment, I wonder where I am. This room, it looks so cold. Metal table surfaces on walls that look like metal painted white. The floor is made up of some kind of black substance. Very dull, though slightly sticky as I walk along. This room, though it shows signs of habitation shows no sign of life. It… is… dead. Therefore, I have to explore. There is a door behind me. It opens in the middle, both sides swinging inwards. I feel like some kind of a cowboy. This room, though, I do recognise. I feel that I have been here before. I know that I have been here before. I stand in the doorway, taking it in, allowing the memories to flow out. But they are unclear. Not real, almost. They are memories of a time, not an event. A happiness. A calmness. But where, where in my life was this happiness? Where in my life is this room? 

I am still taking it in. It is messier than the kitchen, though it has the same, dead, décor. This room has signs of life. Signs of life. This thought slowly creeps over me. It is a living room, but it is not my living room. Life hasn’t stopped for this room. Because there is nothing to stop the life in this room. It is bright, it breathes. It does not care. Back home, back on Earth, there has been too much sorrow lately. The rooms changed. They became filled with memories. Filled with memories, because, for the people who lived in these rooms, lately that’s all there has been. Just memories. Haunted.

I am bleeding. Bleeding, still. Pulling myself out of this train of thought, I head to one of three doors. Again, it is a barn door. It leads to a bedroom. As curious as I am, I’ll leave my snooping to a respectable minimum. One thing I do notice, however, is that they sleep on the floor. The next door I go into is a bathroom.

Looking at myself in the mirror gives me a clear indication of what seems to have happened. I was right, I have been bleeding from the head, the left-hand side of my face is just caked in blood, which has darkened. The right side of my face is now very pale. Though it is darkened by the amount of dust and dirt I appear to have picked up at some point. I also notice just how grimy my uniform is. 

Seeing a piece of material, a towel or something, I pick it up and take it back into the kitchen. Finding some kind of a knife, I attempt to shred it into strips. Though to do this, I have to hold the material in my teeth, whilst maintaining the maximum grip I can get out of my left hand, which has become so weak. I use my right hand to use the knife. I then place my left arm on the table and pull up the sleeve. Some of the blood has dried and there is a lot of blood. The sleeve rips open some of the wounds, which have finally closed. I am in a lot of pain, right now. I then use the shreds of material, first as a tourniquet, then as bandages. It is not long before the blood soaks through these bandages. But the tourniquet has some effect.

“Here we are, then,” says a voice.

Shit! Escape. The air vent is still open, and clambering inside, I seem not to have been spotted, so far.

“Yes, yes, you can leave me alone,” replies a voice that sounds like one of the voices I heard earlier. It sounds like one of those security guards, but what do I know? When did they come into the building? The, er, apartment.

“Sorry, I can’t do that. I’ve got to stay with you,” says the first.

Do they know I’m here?

“Oh yes, I’m sorry. You’ve got to stay with me until I die tomorrow.”

“Yes that’s right.”

No.

“Well having once been Chief of Security, I think I know that there is absolutely no way for me to escape, with or without you to guard me.”

This does not fill me with confidence. 

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve still got to stay with you until the moment of your death, tomorrow morning.” 

“Die, hah! I wish that He’d die. If I have the chance, I’d like to blow a bomb up in his face. Or shoot him or something.”

“Traitor! You should die for that remark!”

“I already am.”

“Encore!”

“Well, that’s a nice thing to say, isn’t it?”

I think I hear them coming into the kitchen area, now, their voices certainly are getting much louder.

“What the hell is this? ‘No Life’? What is that meant to mean? ‘Dead’? Are you some kind of funny guy?”

“It’s your room, mate. Write whatever you want to write.”

There is a scuffle, followed by a slap as something hits a wall or something.

“I did not write this. Now tell me, is this some kind of a sick joke, because I fail to see the funny side.”

There is another scuffle and I decide to make my move. Daring to look, I notice that the alien who seems to have captured the other alien is now on top of the prisoner who is lying on the floor grasping the captor, pushing him away. I know that this first alien is the one who has captured the other, because he starts to say “If you don’t let go, I will personally see your death orders through this minute,” or at least I imagine that is what he would have finished off saying as I hit him hard across the head with a heavy, rectangular object half-way through. He gracefully allows gravity to slowly pull him to the floor.

The prisoner alien looks surprised. He hadn’t seen me, either. I just hope, if he is some kind of a traitor, I can get him on my side.

“My word, you’re that human thingy, aren’t you?”

I whip out my gun. I am now face to face with my frien-emy. It’s up to him to decide. But why does he speak English? How can I understand it?

“Speak alien!!!” I scream as I need something to become clear. The noises are unintelligible. Maybe he’s making them up, but it sounds right. Maybe it’s my head screwing up the language, but it sounds enough. I ask him to stop and carry on in English. Then I say to him. “Yes, and if you want to stay alive, come with me.”

It smiles.

“I’m sure your puny little thing won’t hurt me.”

This is where my surroundings slowly begin to soak in. Around me is writing. Writing that wasn’t here before. Words like, ‘Dead’, ‘Where is the life here?’, more words, ‘Not here’, but they are all written in blood, still drying. Fresh. Behind me are faint trails of blood. Below me, a pool is forming. Yet, I did not write these words. I stand there, motionless. I’m trying to push thoughts into my head, trying to make sense. The room has gone out of focus, it is not important, right now. I am searching my head, looking for some kind of an answer, a sequence of memories to explain the reason for these words, how they got here, but my mind throws up nothing. I push visual images of myself writing these words on the walls, using my own blood, but this triggers nothing in my mind. This room does appear familiar, but I recall never having been here before. I might be able to tell you what might lie in a certain cupboard, but I do not recall ever having stood at these cupboards.

Reflecting on these thoughts, I slowly become aware of my breathing. Just the rhythm of my breathing. Slow, heavy, controlled. I know who I am. I just don’t know much about myself. Breathe in, breathe out. I seem not to be able to gain access to many of the details of my life that my mind holds. Breathe in, breathe out. There is a part of me that seems to have control. That part of me is hidden, though. Breathe in, breathe out. I am hiding inside myself. Breathe in, breathe out. I will not allow this part of me to come out. To make sense of this world. To make sense of life. Breathe in, breathe out. It’s like my mind is whispering to me, mumbling to me, and I am only picking out certain words, filling in the gaps. I need to find myself. Find that part of me. Breathe in, breathe out.

“You want revenge, don’t you?” I say now, having gained some control of myself.

“Well, no! I was just saying that in the heat of the moment,” says the possible Yertjuk.

“You want to live, don’t you?”

“Yeah, go on then. But there really is no way to escape you know.”

“I escaped from you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well...”

“What’s your fucking name!?!”

  “Yertjuk”

“Thank you.”

The other alien begins to wake up, so I kick him, delaying consciousness. I kick him fucking hard. I make him bleed. Too fucking right.

“Coming?” I say.

“Listen, it looks like you’re bleeding, pretty badly, actually. Let’s at least clean you up first.”

He moves me over to a basin. Water jets up from the bottom. He takes my arm, and after removing my rudimentary bandages, puts my arm under the water. I stay very passive through this, trusting him, but the water sinks easily into the wounds. I suddenly feel very dizzy, My legs collapse, bringing my whole body down. I am breathing in and out, fast and hard. I get dizzier as my whole body breaks out into pins and needles. I am writhing on the floor and I am breathing faster, harder. I have gone into shock. Slowly, the most of it fades away and slowly do I allow the bandages to be put back on. Slowly do I focus back on the alien, telling me to calm down, explaining to me that I have gone into shock. He ties the bandages much tighter, much firmer than I was able to. He wets a piece of cloth and, gaining my trust, puts it to the wound on my head. I am very hesitant this time, only allowing little dabs. My body does go back into shock, fortunately on a much smaller scale. He bandages my head.

“Come on, let’s go,” he says.

We escape back into the air vent. Where there is still some light coming from this kitchen, I can see some faint trails of blood, principally on the sides, where I had been pulling myself along. 

“Ah, so this is how you escaped.”

“Yes, jolly clever isn’t it.”

Yertjuk thinks to himself for a few seconds.

“You know, crawling through an air vent like this, it seems vaguely... right.”

“Funny, I was just thinking exactly the same thing.”

“You know, for another species, you are really nice, you know.”

“Thanks. Same goes to you. Why were you going to die, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s because I let you escape.”

That seems to me a nice gesture. He is dying for my freedom. I would like to be at the execution.

“Oh, thanks.”

“Oh no. I didn’t mean to let you escape. You just kind of disappeared.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Just as well, really.”

Yertjuk stops. I crash into the back of him. Something that is really hard to do when you’re in such an enclosed space. To crash into him is really an achievement. I feel chuffed, proud of myself. Could you ever see an alien doing that? No. But us humans can. Is this in anyway racist? Actually, I think to myself. There is a lot to think about, here. I think about the Roman Empire, the British Empire, French Empire, African slavery. What is this, other than one race trying to dominate another race, despite all its reasons, excuses, scapegoats. I think about this situation, here, now. We have one alien race trying to dominate a human race. But on the other hand, we have one human (white), trying to dominate an alien race by fighting back. Are they taking over this dominant white role, pushing us down a class, or are we maintaining that hold, pushing them down? It’s a battle of survival. But a battle that should never be happening. No firm conclusions can ever be drawn from this.

“I have no idea where I am going.”

“Don’t worry, just keep moving.” 

He sets off again, and I continue to follow. Elements of the real world are beginning to splinter their way into this place. Yet, everything seems un-fixed, broken. I fade back into a conversation I am having with this Yertjuk alien.

“Hey, we’ve travelled across half the galaxy to get here, you know,” he says.

“Yeah, to invade my planet. Why?”

As he starts to explain a lot of things to me, I can just see my bedroom clock, its hands pointing to half-past two. The walls around the clock are dark, some streaks of light across it, suggesting it is the morning. But the patterns of light on the walls do not seem to correlate. They seem too random. As I stare, they start swirling, ever so slightly, but I can feel the nausea creeping up over me. I close my eyes, tilt my head back and gasp for air. I slow myself down and the nausea passes. I bring my head back down and open my eyes. They fall on the clock. It is still half-past two. I close my eyes and wait to go back to sleep. Eventually I zone back in on Yertjuk.

“It was hoped that we would be able to come to a compromise with you humans and that we would live in peace with you,” he concludes.

“Well,” I say, “what happened there?”

“We had packed many weapons with us, in case you humans had advanced and would not be prepared to come to a compromise. But were only to be used as a last resort.”

“Well, you don’t seem very peaceful. Let me tell you that from first hand experience.”

“That is the fault of our current Supreme Leader. Nobody understands him. He seems to want to do too much. He keeps… changing his mind.”

“So what’ll you do once you’ve successfully invaded our planet?”

“Take over. Carry on from where we left off. Many generations were born and died onboard that ship. If we were to go back home now, there would be nothing left. We have risked everything and have lost too much to not carry on with our plan.”

“You speak awfully good English. How?”

“Oh the Supreme Ruler, or William, as he calls himself insists that we do.”

“But, why?”

“Because he’s a git.”

Yertjuk stops again and peers through a metal grille, as he has done many times before.

“Aha! We are here.”

“Where?”

“The arsenal. We’re going to blow William up into a hundred little Trascon bits.”

In conclusion, I feel that although the worlds that these characters are in help to shape them as aberrant characters, they still play an important function in the way that the world works. Many of these characters have in some way shocked the society around them, and yet they cannot be disposed of or ignored easily. They continue to exist and to function within the confines that the society around them tries to place around them. 

Not only this, but we find that the directors become drawn to them, focus on them as characters within the film. They may not always be the central character, but they still play a very prominent part in the film. They are never secondary characters, as the mise-en-scene very often helps to frame them, to draw comparisons to the world surrounding them. In this instance, they are disguised. They are able to fit into the surrounding world, and pass unnoticed. However, this does not usually last until the end of the film, where their disguise is often torn away. However, the mise-en-scene can also show them to be the complete opposite to the world around the aberrant character, making them stand out and isolated. In this instance, they have no disguise, and therefore, it is easier for the society to find them objectionable.

There is one area that the aberrant character will never conform, and that is thematically, or moralistically. They will always stand in opposition to the standards that supports the world around them. Although the aberrant character may choose not to conform, or may have no choice about not conforming, and being thrust into this role, they will never be fully accepted by the society around them. Fault will always be found with the aberrant character. It is through assertion and repetition of themes and motifs that cause the character to stand out. They will have their own views and opinions, which although they may not realize it, stand in opposition. 

The aberrant character is, therefore, an entirely oppositional character. How the auteur will choose to define the aberrant character throughout the course of the film is up to their own interpretation of the character.