The watchmaker part 1

R. Fuko

I had this dream today. There are parts I can remember, but only small flashes, the same way it always happens when you open your eyes. There was a man who was making people. I forget what he looked like, but the part I can remember had me walking in this cavernous room, circular as well, and this man was pouring blood into someone, but it wasn’t exactly blood, just some type of surrogate synthetic blood that achieved life-making purposes. The man he was creating had some sort of uncanny undertone, so that I knew by looking at him that he wasn’t completely human, only nearly human, if there can really be a qualification to that sort of adjective. And I asked him, unbelieving, “you’re making people?” But I said it in a kind of angry voice, like I thought he was doing something wrong, but the man just smiled at me. And he turned to me, leaned over as his eyes stirred behind thick glasses and simply said.

“Yes.”

And then I looked at the people around me and started wondering if non-humans were walking around, like some sort of elaborate, elastic wool not only pulled over my eyes, but that completely encompassed the world. Like maybe there were these beings that simply looked and acted like humans, but really were sub-humans, or non-humans, as I stated earlier. Creations, rather than organics, if that makes sense. Mechanical. As if everything around were this huge mechanical system where we could only see a sheet that was covering it: we had some idea of the shape beneath, but what was it doing? Who was controlling it? And why was it there?

You’re alone on this empty beach. No. You’re alone on an empty planet covered with sand and you’ve been walking for days and days. You don’t need to eat, sleep or even breathe, but walking is the only thing to do, as if nothing else occurs to the mind. All of a sudden atop this huge sand dune, wracked by wind, pillaged by indifference, you find a watch.