The Station, Part 33 cont.

It isn’t helping that, for some inexplicable reason, my hands and feet have begun to itch. Some kind of allergic reaction I suppose. It’s a deep, persistent itch that no amount of scratching has been able to alleviate in the least. Even stranger, the itching is in very specific parts of my hands and feet. The sides next to the pinky finger and the smallest toes of either foot. Weird huh? I’ve had to stop several times already, take off my footings and scratch the toes raw. My hands aren’t that much better. Now they’re raw as well. Even with the interruptions to scratch, I think I’ve made good progress toward the mountains. I can se more details now. The snow capped peaks are more visible and I can see the clouds that hang over them. All that water, and still so out of reach. But water must downhill here too. I just know I’ll find a river or stream, and when I do, I’m bound to fins more life. As bizarre as the things I seen have been, there’s one thing that is consistent among them. The rules of life. It all has to breathe, eat and breed. I’ve seen all of these rules being followed. Seems life in this universe of ours is all working for the same Mother Nature.

Some of these things I remember from the dreams. Yes, they’ve come back. And I wish I could play back what I may have said during my fever. But then again, it was probably no more than incoherent babbling. Still, the images are vivid again. I think its starting to sort itself out in my mind. The brain is wired to seek out patterns and order to things. And when it can’t find that order, will make an order of its own. That’s what might be happening now. My mind making sense of all the things it has had no prior experience with. But there’s more to it than that. There’s a collection of knowledge building. It can’t be anything other than that. My unconscious mind has been processing all that my senses have provided it and made conclusions that make the most sense. Sure, that’s what I’d like to believe—my mind doing all of this. Providing previously forgotten knowledge and suppressing formally easily recalled memories. Who am I’m fooling? There’s something else going on. There’s an outside influence at work. It’s changing me. I’ve been dancing around it for too long and it’s time to recognize this. The dreams, the facts that I have, but I shouldn’t, are being given to me. I know more about the varied inhabitants of this place than I do about our own world. Feeding and social customs, deaths of generations and births of new ones. I know their perspectives of life inside this strange, strange world. I know that none of us really belong here. We are all going someplace else. We all want to get to that place, and not one of us knows what or where this place is. And they are all waiting for their protector, friend, caretaker, guide and all those other things they need to show them the way. And He is not answering them anymore. No, these things I know are not mere dreams. There is too much sense to be made of them. I’m being instructed in the most invasive way possible—direct input into my mind. If it can add whatever it wants, can it not take away as well? I’m forgetting things. Easy things. Important things. And it’s scaring the living shit out of me. I have absolutely no control. It will happen again and again, I’m sure. Whenever I sleep. What will it add, and what will it sacrifice in its stead. And why must it sacrifice anything? Who the fuck are they to decide what they can take away? Why can’t I simply keep all that I am and the additions? Is it some kind of payment, or what they would consider a fair exchange? I don’t give a fuck either way. Because they never once asked my permission. So they can go fuck themselves for all I care. I’m getting out of here.