The Surreal or The Real or The Art?

An unwanted stench rolled down from the cliffs and lingered on the sad, dark plains. But since no one there on the plains had a nose, they were forced to only feel the stink on their hands.

Except there was one nose, wasn’t there?

“Reloj, what is that you are strewn about? Is that a nose?”

Reloj attempted to move, to scan his surroundings. His back was bent at an angle that should have been impossible for someone as solid and sure as him. Reloj felt like a limp tortilla. He could feel the pile of flesh he was atop. He could catch a glimpse of it… just past his 12 and his 1… what appeared to be the nose of something formerly human.

“I do not know, Zeit.” Reloj answered the demanding Zeit.

“Is it alive? Is it dead?” Zeit persisted.

“Those would be the two options.” Horloge piped up from nearby.

“I assure you, there are more options than that.” Zeit said sternly.

“I don’t want to know if it is dead or alive and I don’t want to know what it is!” Reloj burst. “I want to pretend it is not underneath me. I wish to not feel it against my once, solid, silver back!”

“So, now you say you are a gorilla.” Horloge spoke as if a cigarette dangled between his lips but he never smoked cigarettes and he had no lips so it seemed improbable at best. Of course, not impossible. Especially given this peculiar predicament.

Zeit ignored Horloge. “Reloj, I ask, because if it is alive and it is a nose or has a nose, then it could have a mouth and it could speak to us and it could help us.”

“It is unmoving. It is not alive, Zeit.” Reloj sighed and his hands spun from the force, twirling and twirling and finally landing on 3:47 precisely. The time Reloj was born of steel and glass.

Reloj redirected his eyes towards Zeit’s direction, removing Zeit's body from his peripheral and placing him in a more direct light. He could see Zeit much better now. Zeit was in worse shape than Reloj. Slung over a tree branch like a wet, discarded bit of sauerkraut. The tree branch offered no heft but it still supported Zeit’s entire frame. His weight was apparent and simultaneously it had evaporated into the dirty sky. The tree was approaching death, but perhaps it supported Zeit until his end. One last task before it too perished. That must be what was happening. They were all dying.

“Zeit, you are dying.” Reloj spoke bluntly.

“I am not.” Zeit struggled to move. “I am in between phases and I am attempting to redirect towards a desired one.”

“What is the desired one?” Horloge asked, a puffing noise coming from his lack of lips. Was he smoking? He laid, bent back at a 45 degree angle on a simple table featuring no engineering genius other than to stay upright. And to somehow have sprouted the very tree that Zeit hung from.

“The desired one is the one where I am alive.” Zeit responded with a wiggle.

“If you are not alive now, then you are dead.” Horloge said. “There is no returning. The carriage does not return you to your origin. It brings you to your destination and then it rolls away into the cities, searching for more souls to transport.”

“There is more than life and death.” Zeit wiggled his long hand towards the tree branch. He had amazing dexterity and looked as if he may grasp the tree branch for a moment. “There are other phases. There is the dream. There is the surreal. There is the art. Even within the art you can be in a dream. Within the art you can be dead.”

“Are we in the art?” Reloj asked. “Did the man put us in the art?”

“He may have.” Zeit responded. “And if that is the case, then there is a way out.”

Horloge chuckled. “No, there is not. Have you heard the expression, Painted into a corner?”

“But the mere fact we are talking, Horloge.” Zeit craned his face towards Horloge. “The mere fact we are talking suggests things do not operate the same way here as they do in the real. When have you ever spoken before?”

“I have spoken in my head many times.” Horloge responded.

“You have never spoken out loud.” Zeit said. “And now you are doing just that. The rules have changed. More is possible from us.”

“Perhaps we are in the surreal. Within the surreal we are in the art. And the art is a dream.” Reloj hypothesized.

Something gold began to materialize next to Horloge on the table. It was rounded. It was spherical. As it came into existence, it looked as if it was a gold watch. Chittering noises emanated. Many ants were crawling atop the gold watch with an excitability that most despised.

“I am not talking to him.” Horloge said bluntly. “And the man does not call it a dream. He calls it a memory.”

“It could be a dream of a memory.” Reloj argued.

“You have memories of dreams. You do not dream of memories.” Horloge glanced at the ants once more and scoffed. “More is coming into existence around us. Our world is not done being created.”

“Exactly!” Zeit was filled with sudden enthusiasm. “Why, look behind me. A rectangular steel plate of sorts is coming into existence. As is, what is that, a lake?”

Zeit was right. Water shone in the distance. The stench grew bolder.

“I taste almonds.” Horloge stated.

“You cannot taste anything.” Zeit argued. “You’ve never tasted anything, most assuredly not almonds. You couldn’t know the taste of them!”

“The man has eaten breakfast with me at his side. He has placed the croissants on my face. He has eaten lunch with me at his side. He has placed a handful of almonds on my face. I know the taste, Zeit. I taste almonds.”

Horloge was right. A taste lingered in each of their non-existent mouths. Zeit and Reloj knew not what the taste was, but that didn’t stop it from washing over their faces and tickling their numbers.

“So, what does all of this mean?” Reloj asked. “Our surroundings are still being created. New elements are being introduced…”

“The man has set almonds down atop us.” Horloge speculated.

“Because we are in the art!” Zeit exploded. “The art is in the process of being created! We are in the art.”

“But is the art in the real?” Reloj asked. “That wouldn’t explain our newfound abilities.”

“The art must be in the surreal.” Zeit said.

“Or we are in the surreal which is in the art.” Horloge said.

“Could we be in the art which is in the surreal which is in the dream?” Reloj asked.

“The man does call it a memory.” Horloge thought. “If the memory is of a dream in which the man was in the surreal and he created the art… that could be where we find ourselves.”

“The man created the art in the surreal which was in the dream and now the man has the memory of this?” Zeit asked. “So, he has broken through the planes. He has brought the dream and the surreal and the memory into the real… into the art.”

They let this newfound hypothesis sink into their various melted metal bodies.

“In the surreal, can a clock move?” Reloj asked.

“In the surreal, any movement could happen.” Zeit confirmed.

And confirmation was all Reloj needed. He pulled his limp, hanging body up off the pile of flesh. Slowly, he straightened himself out and peeled himself off something formerly human, formerly with a nose.

“In the surreal, can something change its consistency?” Reloj asked.

“In the surreal, any change could happen.” Zeit confirmed.

Reloj focused. His face flexed. It stiffened, as did the rest of his body. A melted silver clock conjured the frigid rebirth needed to solidify himself. The promising cracking of his body stiffening pierced the non-existent ears of the others. Reloj lifted his now solid, circular body off the pile of flesh and stood atop the desolate landscape.

The air still stunk and looked of death and despair, but Reloj relished that he could take it into his body as he stood tall and proud.

“In the surreal, can something add weight to itself?” Reloj asked.

“I shall find out.” Zeit grunted.

Zeit forced weight unto himself. His body plumped. His body hardened. His hands tightened and cracked into place. The branch of the tree groaned under the added pressure of Zeit’s growing weight. The branch bent down. It creaked. It snapped. And a completely solidified Zeit landed in the dirt, upright, tall.

“In the surreal, something without a tongue can taste.” Horloge stated.

“Yes.” Reloj responded.

“In the surreal then, something without legs can walk.” Horloge declared.

The melted Horloge transformed his liquid particles into solid ones. Little by little, he bubbled, he simmered. Frost wafted in the air in his immediate area. His face bent upwards and hardened. His 45 degree angle diminished… 30 degrees… 15 degrees… soon no degrees as an upright Horloge slid off the table and landed in the dirt. Without any feet, he walked over towards Reloj. A teetering, wobbling sort of movement.

“In the surreal, how do we make our exit?” Horloge asked.

Reloj shrugged shoulders that he didn’t have. They both looked to Zeit with eyes they didn’t possess.

“We make our own exit however we wish.” Zeit said confidently.

Zeit spun and marched toward the cliffs. Reloj and Horloge followed him. The rotten stench swept past on the plains. Behind it came the taste of almonds. And behind that came the stench and the taste of something fermented. And directly behind that came the feeling of bliss and disorientation to the senses. Senses which the clocks were all new to.

Their march became a meander. But they pressed on towards the cliffs, even if at a jovial and leisurely pace. The light in the sky never changed. But it should have, as their hands ticked forward. The disorientation grew to a pleasing level and they walked with ease. They couldn’t even feel their legs that they didn’t have. The cliffs grew closer. The bad stench dissipated. Their hands twirled around their faces. The light in the sky never changed.

“I think I have a memory of this.” Horloge said.

“So, it has happened before?” Reloj asked.

“Unless this is the memory and we are all experiencing it together.” Zeit speculated.

They teetered on. Along a path they might have been on once before. Or a path they had a memory of being on. Or a path they were creating a memory of being on. Or a path from a dream or to a dream. Or a path to the real. In any event, it looked like a path to the art.

**************

If you enjoyed this story and want to read more of my work, then please come check out my website where I post all my latest work, plus you can even subscribe for updates!