Clandestine

I have created a universe: two worlds with two realities. Worlds that are neither poorer nor richer than each other. I have given the humans two psyches for each world. Once one sleeps in one world, he enters the other world. As the body from the other world sleeps, the body from the another awakes. This means that one cannot be awake in both worlds at the same time.  So basically, in my universe, there is no such thing as dreaming. Humans cannot entirely live the same lives for the both worlds, but the memories of the two realities are connected. They remain once the humans wake up from the other world to another, except for one thing: when a human dies in one world, his body from the other world will not remember that he died in the other. And in order to balance this, I have created beings called Clandestine. They have the sole purpose to restore the balance of the two worlds. I have created them to remove from the other world what has been lost from the other. One cannot live in one world after he dies in the other world because

I have created two worlds so the humans will not live in one world.

EPILOGUE



The ambiance is the color of a desert during the day when the sun is too hot. Cars turn as ovens, toasting everyone inside. Like the air conditioners, traffic lights have no use. Backseat windows roll down and heads lean outside. Vans, trucks, jeeps, and cabs swarm themselves on the right side of the road. Deafening honks scream, along with the burning gusts of wind passing through the tiny spaces of the squeezing bumpers.

A middle finger gazes out from the dusty red Accord, pointing to a road plumber on the other side of the supposedly wide road. The brown man from the Accord has a thick frowning unibrow that absorbs the grains of sweat coming out from his wide forehead. He breathes hard, in and out, through his hairy nose like an angry bull who sees a red flag. His feet on the clutch and the break. Right hand grips the wheel while the other sticks out of the window. His thick black hair is still uncombed since his last nap. You can see him uttering something. His dry mouth parts a little and moves up and down, rapidly enough to notice his elongated chin forming a cleft. He squints his eyes against the glare of the sun, reflected by the Accord's side mirror. But he fixes his stare towards the man whose grin extends from ear to ear, despite the torture of the sun.

His ironic and wide grin can be compared to a kid who has just been given a present. He is not so young but not too old, either. His arms on both waists, average legs apart and position themselves near the excavated part of the road. His posture exposes the sweat that forms the rounded dark spot on his right armpit through his neon green long sleeve shirt. What makes this brown man in the red Accord so pissed, besides the heat that the afternoon brings, is the man's grin that projects after him.

"You ugly fucking clown! I don't pay my taxes just to feed your stupid lazy ass!" he curses and puts back his exposed hand on the wheel and slowly hoists up his left foot from the clutch and presses his right on the gas after the traffic loosens.

"You fucking better work your ass up...cover that fucking hole and bury yourself in it!"

The man's grin does not fade away. He seems not to hear the mocks of the brown man. Cars begin to move as well as the red Accord, but the man's head follows without wearing off his grin towards the pissed driver. The shaggy-browed man sees the man's consistent grin  through the mirror until he makes a turn. This time, cool air merely enters and meets his face. His temper cools, so as the grains of sweat on his wrinkled forehead dry.

After several minutes, he notices a very familiar man walking on the side street. This time, he wears blue shirt and white jeans. The man with the blue shirt has an average height and torso that matches the picture of another man inside the driver's head. At one point, the new man glances and glares a smile towards the moving Accord and the brown man sees this.

"Fuck those weirdos," he curses once more.

The brown man ruminates for a moment while he heads towards the tollgate. It cannot be possible.

"Drive safely, sir."

He passes the tollgate and reaches for his purse from the back pocket of his pants to get ready for the next. His mind is still on the identical faces of the construction worker and the man with the white jeans.

The confused brown man accidentally deviates the wheel as he tries to grope his purse from the deep pocket.The 18-wheeler truck honks abruptly and stirs away from the Accord. The driver of the red car immediately aligns his wheels back.

The truck drove forward until it was to the Accord's driver's window, "Get your head in the road!"

He takes a deep breath as he waves a hand to apologize for the almost bloodshed he has caused. He slows down as the enormous truck gets ahead of him. As he shakes his head, his gaze strays to the dusty radio. He turns it on and The Police plays, making him forget about the suspicious  men.

...Since you've gone I've been lost without a trace I dream at night I can only see your face I look around but it's you I can't replace...

He sings along until the song ends before he shuts off the radio. The Accord drives along with a speed that belongs to the extreme left of the highway. The other cars within the reach of the rear window move swiftly but apart from each other. Beyond the middle of the way to the next tollgate, he suddenly inhales cold air which is very different from the consistent hard gust of the wind outside. He tries to swallow and clears his throat as he hopes this will help to release the agitating sensation. He rests an arm on the window's sill and leans his head outside while he continues to drive.

From the cold breaths, the uneven sensation now reaches his feet. The temperature is very different from the halved road where he saw the grin. Fuck. He decides to straighten himself up: both fists now hold the top of the steering wheel and his head goes straight ahead. Of course I am driving alone. He doesn't sing in front of anyone's presence. But his peripheral vision betrays him. At first, he refuses to pan his head to the right but he cannot drive this way any longer. He needs the other mirror on the other side to check the cars hasting from behind. This time, he turns his head.

The dark eyes stare as the familiar face now sits very close beside him. The driver starts to flutter his eyes uncontrollably. His panting loosens the grip of his hands on the wheel. He begins to quiver with fright. His heart pounds so fast and so hard, hurting his chest. The driver can't contemplate about what he has to react besides of the involuntary trembling of his whole body. He can't even produce a sound from his dry mouth. The man, who just appears right there, is no whiter than him, but he looks young and alive. The driver can see no emotion from the man next to him. His face was a total blank. He is not alike with the stereotypical ghosts whose complexions are very far to compare with anyone alive. Unlike the driver, the man's face has perfect features. His eyebrows are justly aligned and his nose protrudes perfectly. His eyes are just as black as the night without the presence of the moon and the stars. His lips are moist and starts to part,

 "Two worlds were created so humans will not live in one world."

The car shrieks, rolls, bumps and at last, crashes.

TO BE CONTINUED