We come across a multitude of symbols in this life. Most of them we barely notice. We pass them in the street and barely glance at them. Maybe our minds take them in, but it’s definitely not a conscious action. We don’t wander all over the place thinking “There’s a poster on that wall, and on that wall. And that bin says “litter”. And this path winds unnecessarily.” and so on. And that’s just the surface of what we don’t notice. We don’t pass a wall and note the colour of every brick. The sheer volume of information we ignore each day must be overwhelming. What we do notice must only be a tiny percentage. I wonder what kind of storage we would need to make a note of all this information. What kind of grand computer would be able to store it all? And then how big would it be? And then, surely it would have to contain all the information about itself as well, which would make it even bigger. Where would it stop? Thinking like that, we end up with an infinitely large computer holding a database of endless recursions. All we really need is the original source of the information. Welcome to the biggest database in the world. Welcome to Earth.

-Alice

I opened my eyes this morning and nothing was in focus. This wasn’t unusual as I hadn’t got my glasses on, but it wasn’t simply my vision that was shaky. I couldn’t really be sure what was going on. Or who I was. Or how I got here. Or what had just been running through my mind. That dream had really done something to my senses. I probed my mind, attempting to make it clearer, but all I got was flashes. I had a sense of the past. A sense that time had moved backwards. I wasn’t sure how that had happened. How elements of my surroundings had apparently regressed into their past forms. I couldn’t remember my feelings on this matter. I couldn’t remember whether I’d been aware of what had happened. Had I taken the change in my stride? Had I been bewildered or amazed? Or maybe I hadn’t even been aware. Maybe I thought all had been right in this past world. Maybe it was right and it was me who was wrong. That’s the cliche question. The nature of dreams compared to reality. The connection them being so tenuous. In one, we almost always forget the other. I reached for my glasses and put them on. It was then that I noticed the book laying by my pillow. Suddenly, it all made sense. Or maybe, it made even less sense than before. How can anyone be sure?

-Alice

I keep asking myself whether to start this with a question. I suppose, in doing that, I already have. Maybe I should carry on questioning myself. Should I enquire after my existence and the meaning of my life? Should I reduce myself down until I’m nothing but questions? I think not. I don’t want to lose that essence, that something that makes me what I am. That little something that only pretentious people feel they need to sum up in a phrase (usually in a foreign language). And so, should I just talk about everything? All those bits that have come together to make me into this thing that I am. Should I describe myself in every way? The physical and emotional. The spiritual and the unspeakable. Should I allude to those dark secrets that shape what you can see above the surface? Or should I be some quantum enigma that denies description and keeps to myself? I could be silent and never tell. But then, I’m not sure if that would mean I even still existed.

-Alice

I’d been drinking for a while. My head was rocking from side to side as I tried to adjust my balance. It really wasn’t working. The rocking was keeping my head from just falling straight forwards and hitting my desk. If I concentrated hard enough, maybe I could be sober. Or at least more sober than I was. I didn’t feel like it though. Instead I preferred to sit back and feel the alcohol flow through my veins. Infecting and poisoning my body. I liked to imagine it running through my bloodstream. Coating the insides of my veins and trickling down into the capillaries. I was feeling the buzz. The supposed warmth that these toxins bring to our bodily systems. Isn’t it strange how poisoning ourselves feels so good? How this depressant can sometimes be all that cares for us. I pushed my fingers into the top of my desk, steadying myself. I let out some unidentified noise of relaxation. I could vaguely make out my reflection in the polished surface. I wasn’t sure how I looked though. It wasn’t that good a mirror. My reflection was brown-tinged and blurry. It could’ve been anyone, really. It really didn’t do justice to how fucking sexy I am.

-Alice

I created her. She began with a line on a little scrap of paper and now here she was. Here she was just standing in front of me. It was hard to think of myself as some sort of designer or architect. Somehow I’d created a being. Somehow this had happened. I knew the creating had happened and that I’d done it, but somehow I couldn’t recall it. It was just a haze in my memory. A shadow of an event that seemed so distant in time. She looked so beautiful. I wasn’t sure what to think. Is it wrong to find something you’ve created so irresistible? Is that some kind of skewed narcissism? Should I be humble in my work and feel I could always improve? Or maybe it’s not the pride that I feel that’s wrong. Maybe it’s something deeper inside me. Something sexual. Was I actually attracted to a being of my own creation? That raises even more questions about her existence as a reflection of me and what that means. Or maybe this is natural. Maybe everyone feels this about their creations. Or maybe I just need to stop designing sex dolls.

-Alice

There’s a common thread in my life. Nothing happens. It happens in patterns of nothing. Every night, at exactly 8 o’clock, nothing happens. I never notice anything unusual or anything that should arouse my suspicions. I never get that cold chill down my spine that should tell me something’s up. No unexplained sounds from elsewhere in the house. No noise from outside to startle or alarm me. Nothing. To anyone else, that would be something unusual, but to me it’s the same thing that happens every day. Every day of every week of every month of every year. Over and over. The world turned and the days wore on and nothing happened. I just sat waiting for something to happen. For that startling accident of interest that would light up my dull life and finally give me something to talk about. Not that I know anyone to talk to about this hypothetical interesting thing. Maybe the interesting thing will come with someone available for the later reminiscing about it. I’ll be able to say “Remember when that happened?” and they’ll concur and we’ll talk at length about how interesting it was. But then, I feel that kind of conversation would eventually become rather uninteresting.

-Alice

How many do we have so far? I asked myself. How many more do we need? I looked at the piles before me and they seemed impossibly daunting. I’d made a start at least. That was out of the way, but the carrying on was going to be hell. Page after page full of numbers and letters in seemingly random sequences. I don’t know what they meant. I had no clue as to what these sequences could be intended for. For all I know, they could have meant nothing. They could be pointless and I’d been given this task just to keep me busy and away from important things. But then they could’ve meant everything. They could be the key to everything that goes on here and they’d been entrusted to me. I could make one tiny mistake and it would all go wrong. We’d be dead in the water because I’d missed a sheet. It seemed unlikely, but you never know. I contemplated making a deliberate mistake, just to see what would happen. Whether I’d come in tomorrow to find the place in chaos. I decided against it though. It seemed far more likely that I’d just be in some sort of trouble. Who needs that?

-Alice

I watched the water fall from nothing. Heard the sounds it made as each drop hit the ground. I unwrapped a mint and put it into my mouth as I watched. I ran it over my tongue and felt it hit my teeth. The strong flavour cooled my breath and it chilled my lips as I breathed. I sighed and my breath hit my eyes. It stung. I blinked away the pain and continued to watch the raindrops. It had only been going for an hour or so but the streets were already dismal and dull. It had been glorious sunshine earlier but now it was nothing but rain. I watched from the window. Wondering what had happened to the sun. Wondering why the skies now filled with water and why nothing seemed quite so beautiful now. I looked out and wondered if you’d been caught in the rain. I wondered if you were on your way here. If you were coming over to talk to me. But then, it’s probably not even raining where you are. I guess that’s the benefit of being underground. You never see the sky, so you never feel the rain.

-Alice

She was beautiful. Her eyes astounded me. I could look into them for days. They consumed me and absorbed me. I could’ve sat there in silence, just listening to her speak. But that would’ve been silly. Eventually she would’ve become unnerved by my silence and it would’ve ended. So I talked as well. We talked to each other and the conversation pulled me deeper into the sensation of wanting her. My nerves tugged at me and I failed to act on it. I failed to make that fated moved that would bring us closer together. As I left her, I kicked myself at this thought. I came so close and fell so far, but I couldn’t bring us closer. But I didn’t feel so useless. The connection had been made and it would remain. It just needed strengthening. I just needed another chance. Another experience of her, where I could make that move. Where I could throw off those shackles of nerves and indecision. I could be myself and get what I wanted. What I wanted was her.

-Alice

I’m not sure how this happened. It was all just a blur. It could’ve been any amount of time and I wouldn’t know. It could’ve been years or just a single tiny little moment in my life. It must have been longer than that though. I wouldn’t be here if it had happened in a moment. That wouldn’t be right. I wouldn’t be hearing a voice in my ear and her breath against my skin. I wouldn’t be feeling her touch. Feeling her hands against my chest. That wonderful, life-giving touch. My breath wouldn’t have caught in my throat as she pressed her lips to mine. I wouldn’t be feeling that wonderful feeling as I opened my eyes and looked up at her face. Looking down at me with that expression on her face that said I was all she cared about. I was the only thing on her mind. Her voice was a thing of beauty. It brought me back to reality with the sweetest of sensations. The fluorescence of her uniform somewhat spoiled the effect. Though what really killed it was the way she pulled me into the ambulance. It wasn’t exactly the highpoint of my experience.

-Alice