1968

Short story

1968

He woke up in the desert by noon, it was about three or four weeks ago. Been living of lucky finds of beautiful oasis and the terrible despair of not getting anywhere since he awoke to reality. “Where is everybody?”, the perpetual question would knock him from time to time, from now to now. The long beard, the long hair, the rags on his body protecting from the bloody sun. “Jesus! What year is this?”. Keep walking, little man. He would regularly change from north to east never going back and never finding anything up ahead. His sanity was gone by the seventh day. Now, only being emulated by his primary traits. Honor, fear, faith. Randomly wise sometimes, which would drag him out of the permanent stupor for a little while. Peace in the desert, the hermit in a ghost forever seeking another soul to embrace. Five weeks, nothing. Still playing adventurer and laughing madly day and night.

Oasis ahead. Finally some rest now, right?

Woke up under a tree around 4 pm and resumed his track. Counting steps in the sand for mere entertainment. There are no TVs here, no comics, not even paper for one to materialize himself. He was no longer tangible to his own mind. Under the Sun, he could feel himself in a cellar under the stairs somewhere in the darkest and safest room in his mind.

Suddenly he fell to his knees.

Face in the sand, eyes in the dark. Oblivion was a breeze. A slight impulse in his fingers. It was not the end, then. Started to move his body to get up when he saw a sheet of paper in the sand. Apparently, it was a newspaper. Reached the old thing with his hand. Yes, newspaper. Now, where the f**k that came from? For an instant he tried to understand that. In the next, he laughed about how foolish that was. It was an old piece of news, the headline was MAYOR ANNOUNCES THE and the end was gone. “January, 1968”. S**t! Was that the year he was in? Think about it, after walking five weeks in the desert and finding nothing, he could be any-f*****g-where. His mind tries to gather all the information about his past, but he can only think about cars, beers and comedy cinema. Well, after walking five weeks he clearly was not attached anymore to his time and space. “I guess it's 1968, then.”. He gladly accepted that as his reality to abandon madness. Oh, think about Hendrix, Zappa, all this guys with this organic green psychedelic energy dragging people to their realm of beauty! The orgies, the parties. Jesus, am I american? All I can think about it's their history. Images of fashion and social crisis began to pop on his head. Well, it's 1968. What a year to be alive! Jesus, the long bearded man starts to crave for LSD. Well, I guess sooner or later I'll find some. This is rated r now, but around somewhere I can get some.

It's 1968. His world was pure and known, he smiled upon about what would come next. Still roaming north and east never going back and never finding anything up ahead. Seven weeks. It's 1968, f**k it. Now he knew what would come next. Some of his sanity was back, the old cellar was now covered with acid colored posters, the long bearded long haired man is wearing a cool t-shirt with “Drug Enthusiast” written on it. What a beautiful time. The hermit still roams, but in his head he knows what would come next. He was going ahead to the future or past acting up in his chosen reality. There is no one here, everybody is here. For him, it's 1968 and there is no one who could say otherwise. Even though is 2005 or 2013, he belongs only to his head and it craves what would emulate the happiness he needs.