MicroHorror

And there we sat, in a kind of energetic silence which stretched like a meterstick in all directions. Inside that place, whatever it may be, a building, warehouse, giant tent, it didn’t really matter–we didn’t exactly perceive that we were in a place, after all. Everyone just shot black holes into space with dilated pupils.

A dirt floor, no chairs, most of us sat with our legs crossed in what I was always told was “Indian-style,” with the exception of a few who were sleeping on their sides, without pillows. We were completely without luxury and the room was dimly lit by the moonlight beaming in the fissure in the ceiling, or a rip in the fabric, who knew? Only the smell of night was there.

I’m not altogether sure how many of us there were in that giant circle. I remember you could see the other side clearly, but you couldn’t make out the faces of the people there. At the time, I was also confused as to why we were all sitting in a circle, as there was nothing in the middle of it. It was an almost religious experience, absent a monolith. (Does the omission of a theological alter imply a religious presence?) We all knew something was there; the ones who refused to accept the situation at hand tried to explain it away with strong magnetic forces, but something was definitely there, and perhaps its core was in the center and we gravitated around it without much thought. We just felt it was what we should do.

I was considering, as I’m sure all the others were, standing up and saying something. I didn’t know what I would say, if I would introduce myself in some way or not (it’s important to note that the concept of name didn’t matter to any of us at this point). I guess it would seem inappropriate as well to assign myself a number, as it would have to be “1″ for the first to speak, or the first to stand, or the first to do something. I thought at the time that it may imply a penchant for leadership, something I lacked.

So another man stood. “Uh… excuse me!” The correlation and timing of my thoughts were impeccable, and I felt as if all the others felt it, a natural movement in the collective unconscious.

“Yes, excuse me! What is all of this? Why are we sitting in a big circle? Are we inside of something?! Do we own this?! Does this own us?! Dirt!” He was obviously confused, and it became very clear to me why none of the others talked: we were afraid we might come out with something just as confused. I’m sure we would have. “Are we to eat this?!”

No one laughed; it wasn’t a joke. Without saying anything, I think we all started to consider what we would do for nourishment. We had children to think about as well. The thought of cannibalism was there, but we were afraid that might actually lessen our chances for survival, or whatever it was we were trying to do. We were also afraid to move and try to leave the place; we were worried about the lives of the braves who would dare the unknown.

Not that we knew anything. This wasn’t civilized; how could we understand? We just kept sitting.