My Second life

"Damn I'm gonna be late" Pete sat at his desk in newspaper sales,
getting more anxious as the minutes past.

"Don't these people have homes to go to, does nobody watch neighbours
anymore?" His thoughts escaped his mouth by accident; the other people
around the office exchanged a confused look as they decided whether
they should be offended or not. Pete feeling foolish and a little
embarrassed by his outburst declined in his chair slightly, sinking
like a deflated mannequin of a man at the end of his tether.

What these people didn't know was that Pete had a secret. Something
that none of them knew about was driving his frustration like a
thermometer tossed into the fire. You see Pete's life is complicated.
He had a unique working relationship that was his alone and a
responsibility fate had dropped upon his shoulders, a weight he could
not share.

To an audience Pete's life would seem surreal, fake, a Baudrillard tale
of cinematic proportions. No one could realistically comprehend his
weekly routine, his life, his burden. Finally Pete found himself alone,
the room was empty and silent with the exception of a ringing phone in
the distance. What is it about offices and silence, The hustle bustle
of life outside the office walls, permanently trying to penetrate the
peace within the room, never ceasing and never holding off?

Alone and solitary Pete stands, staring at the blank, black glass of
his computer screen. He reaches for his draw and takes out some sort of
wire. The wire can only be compared to one that could be found in a
hospital. The sort used to measure heart rates or brain activity. The
purpose of such a wire in a newspaper office would soon be made
apparent but Pete alone knew its significance. He reaches down and
plugs one end into the side of the computer. A strange low humming
sound is emitted seemingly from the computer but its origin was really
hard to trace. It was the kind of sound that you didn't just hear but
could feel vibrating in your teeth and running a shiver through your
whole body. Pete has heard this sound a thousand times but again the
follicles of his arm hair stand on end in unison. An army of hair
following the orders of the commanding noise surrounding Pete's
being.

Standing stiff and straight, like he too had received the order as his
hairs had, Pete looks down at the wire in his hand. He licks his finger
and then wets the circular pad at its end. He raises it in front of his
face and takes a deep, slow breath, the kind you often see divers take
before disappearing into the deep blue. With a curse uttered in Pete's
mind he hits the wire against his forehead and his body becomes more
rigid still. If a child had learned this trick not a party would pass
without a victorious game of dead-lions. But Pete wasn't playing a
game. This was real.

Motionless and empty of life the body that used to belong to Pete
stands like a statue, no new breaths are made and no movements on his
chest, wherever Pete was, it was not here.

"Great I'm in. Now to find those damn figures and get out of
here!"

Pete walked down the street like he had many times before tonight; he
had a strange confidence, like he knew exactly where he was going and
what he had to do. Of course he did know, he knew only too well that in
this world he was the king of his own destiny, no one could question
him or tell him what to do. He was the one man who knew the rules and
the restrictions of this world and he was the one man who knew how to
bend these rules and how to break others.

As Pete walked along the road, he could feel eyes upon him. He could
feel people watching him, judging him, fearing him. Following his route
up the main road, central in the street Pete stared on with gritty
determination. Despite the many eyes upon him he didn't faulty not even
for a second. His eye was on the goal, on the town hall, framed in the
distance by the trees and the telephone wires winding across the street
from house to house.

In the distance a woman walks out from the Town hall entrance. The
small image of her exiting the building filled Pete's veins with
tension. His heart stopped for the smallest of seconds, like an athlete
before a race taking his last long breath before the pistol sounds. And
then it began the heavy pumping of his heart, pushing the blood through
his veins with an increased pace. Forcing his body to produce all the
adrenaline it can muster and all the strength he may need to confront
this entity before him. To confront this foreign figure was Pete's only
choice. In a world of certainties, an anomaly rules. Pete did not fear
this anomaly but did not understand it. He was the only stranger to
walk these streets yet there she was in front of him, breaking the
conventions he had come to depend on. If his time in this strange world
had taught him anything it is to approach the unknown with the sense of
uncertainty it deserves, and as anyone who has seen an old b-movie
knows, uncertainty almost always leads to conflict.

As Pete's descent neared the end of its journey he began to distinguish
features on the woman, recognizable features. There was nothing strange
about her at all except that she was here? Here very being was strange
enough to cause concern but her otherwise normal appearance would have
raised no eyebrows in our world, Pete however was no longer in our
world, he was somewhere else. Somewhere where the sinister take many
forms and the demons that lurk in the darkness look no different to you
or I. In this world everyone is a threat because everyone is unknown, a
far cry from our world and our social normality's.

Pete quickened his pace. If he was to confront this entity he was going
to do it now. He had no time to waste because with every moment that
pasted the darkness in his mind grew. It grew and it devoured, taking
with it the confidence Pete so rarely lost, well in this world anyway.
Pete was now within mere yards of the figure, close enough to recognize
her face, yet not actually recognize it at all. The conscience part of
Pete's brain was overloaded with adrenaline and testosterone; he
probably wouldn't have recognized his own mother. But something was
there. Some deep rooted minor feeling, just enough to make him falter
and allow the woman to open her mouth and speak.

"Peter?" The sound of his own voice came as a shock to Pete. He was in
a strange land where no one knew him, yet there it was; that one
syllable. The one word was able to strike an immediate rapport, his
name, and his weakness.

"Pete? Pete, are you listening to me?"