Futurism logo

Alhamdulillah!

Chapter Three: A Bottle of Euphoria

By Rhett Alexander HamiltonPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
Like

Chapter Three

A Bottle of Euphoria

I

Hosea had been on every television channel, packed stadiums across the world, and accumulated a great wealth. Everyone wanted to see him and hear him perform. His album sold so fast, the record label couldn’t keep up with printing. Every day his agent had to unplug the phone just to give himself some peace and quiet.

He left the Tennessee farmhouse behind and moved to the Southern Oregon coast - where he traded the black van in for a gold Porsche 959, and resided in an oceanfront mansion.

The Gold Beach house, designed by the architect Obie Bowman and built by John Harper, wasn’t incredible in size but looked unique and beautiful. It was created to be a weekend/vacation retreat, but once Hosea saw it – he never wanted to leave. Once he offered a generous price, the owners couldn’t refuse, and gladly handed him the keys.

It stood, braced upon a triangular flat, by 16-in. to 24-inch in diameter Port Orford cedar logs. Resembling a lantern glowing upon a hill, the view loft cantilevers over the house’s deck, standing high above the endless shore. He had missed waking up to the Pacific Ocean, where waves also crashed upon the shores of Moriah. He stood on the deck, drinking a deep blue liquid, looking through the large windows, then writing down notes about the drink. The house pointed west and could withstand wind speeds of 100mph. Hosea felt safe and finally at home.

He thought of Salome and his heart began to beat fast.

“Stop it!” he yelled loudly in the empty house.

Then he sipped from his soda and lit a cigarette.

“She wasn’t worth it,” he whispered.

II

Nine hours later, guests began to arrive at the house. It was his first dinner party. The most elegant, powerful, and famous people fought for the entrance to this party. A security team and policemen were to guard the house and reject any person after due capacity.

Only fifty people were allowed inside of the house, then two storm doors were padlocked by a security official – to guarantee safety and silence for everyone inside.

There was a long table, with never-ending offerings of delicate foods, drinks, glasses, and silverware. Whatever the heart desired, Hosea could supply. The guests would listen to his stories and laugh along to every joke, completely unaware of the magnitude of his power and manipulation.

He stood and everyone became completely silent. The sound of sirens and car horns reverberated through the quiet house as everyone held their wine glasses high. “Hi,” Hosea said, looking at the fifty people gleaming with joy. “It’s an honor to have you all here,” he continued. “These past six months have been quite a change for me. I guess after you hear so many negative things about your work, you never really expect to hear something positive. I slept in a van for years – all I had was a mattress, guitar, couple notebooks, and a prayer. I remember having this little propane cooker and would go to the nearest hardware store and buy a four-pack of lantern propane bottles. Sometimes I would spend all the money I had on gasoline and propane and wouldn’t have enough for food, so I would fish in the lake. Not to brag, but as you could imagine, I became quite the poissonier,” he said. A group of waiters began to bring silver platters and placed them on the table. Hosea walked over to the nearest platter and swiftly lifted the lid. “Before the crack of dawn, before most of you went to bed…” the crowd chuckled “…a fine group of fishermen and I set sail, and tonight you shall eat what we caught in our nets.”

After every bit of food was eaten and before dessert was brought out, Hosea stood once again. He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a glass bottle filled with a deep blue drink.

“What is it, Hosea?” a woman on the other end of the table asked.

He held it high for everyone to see, its shimmering blue was hallucinogenic to everyone’s eyes. He had trimmed his beard and began losing weight. His chin was sharp and as defined as the bow of the Titanic. Hosea’s hair was cut short and greased to the side and he stood there, as sophisticated as old money, then answered, “Just a little something I’ve been working on. It’s called Blue Dream.”

“You made a drink?” the woman responded, almost shocked at the question. She never considered meeting someone who invented a flavored drink until this moment, but now, she wanted nothing more than to tear apart his mind and reveal every little thought.

“Well, I didn’t make Blue Dream – a large beverage distributor made them. But I did work with a group of scientists to develop its effects,” Hosea explained. He twisted the cap open and poured it into her champagne flute.

“What does it do?” she asked, lifting it to her lips.

He waited for her to take the drink and once she did, he answered, “It changes everything about you.”

The woman looked at him, pleased. She wanted everything about her to change. There was no fear or regret, she would have died with a smile upon her face if it was poison. But, instead, a rush of relaxation and bliss washed over her. Everyone saw her face contour and change; she never looked more joyous and youthful. “Thank you, Hosea,” she said, holding his hands.

“You deserve to feel at peace,” he answered, taking his hands away from her. Then he turned to the overlooking audience and said, “If anyone would like a bottle, treat yourself to the ones in the refrigerator.”

III

Blue Dream was only released in small batches, allowing strong demand and incredible resale prices. The recipe was impossible to replicate, and no one was ever able to recreate its effect.

Hosea’s fame and power grew higher and higher. His records were becoming certified platinum, Blue Dream was back-ordered, and interview offers were outstanding in number.

“Who is Hosea?” was the question in the back of everyone’s mind. People were clawing at the door for the answer.

He started his gold Porsche and took it for a spin, driving fast and loose on the winding coastal highway. He pulled into a gravel driveway, outside of a diner. No one had known he was set to perform that night, other than the band. To Hosea, there was nothing more intoxicating than an intimate crowd. He found arenas and large shows, with their lights and loudness an annoyance and a chore. He’d rather play before a small crowd with just his guitar in his hands. That’s what he had been trained for, to be a songwriter. He put his guitar case around his back and took a carton of Blue Dream from the back of the Porsche.

Hosea hummed as he walked into the diner. His band had already set up the stage and awaited him. He carried the insulated carton to the stage and hopped upon it. Once the crowd recognized them, they began to applaud voraciously. “Hi,” Hosea spoke into the microphone, waving his hand to settle them down.

He performed his entire album. The crowd sipped their bottles of Blue Dream and treasured every drop, knowing they may never have the opportunity to feel its euphoric effects again. Once the band was paid, Hosea was invited to sit with a group of people.

The kitchen served steaks and potatoes during the show, the empty plates were being picked up by the diner’s staff as he sat down – alongside the empty glass Blue Dream bottles. Three women sat at the table, one with black hair, one with red, the other was dyed blonde but had brown roots. The black-haired girl seemed to not want to speak to him at all, the redhead made him laugh, but the blonde asked the most questions.

Her name was Tamar and she was incredibly beautiful. She admitted to him that she had just ended her relationship with a man who turned out to be engaged. When she flipped her hair back, Hosea could see two hickeys on the right side of her neck.

Hosea could see the heartbreak she was putting herself through, knowing she would answer if her ex called. He knew she spent the end of every night constantly asking herself “Why?” and abusing herself about it, never thinking she was good enough for something better.

It was exactly how he treated himself.

The sound of thunder roared in the background, causing Hosea to stand, thank the women for their time, and make his way to the gold Porsche.

Mist turned to rain as he started the vehicle, revved the engine, and put it into gear. He pulled into his garage before the thunderstorm began, feeling safe once again in his fortress.

He placed his guitar on a custom-built rack and took off his shoes.

“Has it already been a year?” he asked the presence standing on the view deck, watching the waves burst upon the cliffs.

The presence turned and looked at him. “To the exact day.”

“Halfway there,” Hosea said with confidence.

“How long will it take for you to complete Harvest?” the presence asked.

“I’m doing everything I can. I’m out here creating a name for myself. Open a newspaper, I’m a point of discussion in every single one,” Hosea pointed at his chest.

The presence focused and jolted towards him, grabbing him by the neck, “Harvest has nothing to do with your vanity, Hosea! If you don’t complete it, everything you have built, and your so-called “name” will burn to the ground!”

Hosea pulled his way out of the presence’s stronghold, yelled at the top of his lungs, and pointed at the dark figure, “You’re the one that chose the violinist!”

“What does she have to do with your mission?” the presence grew, shadowing the light of the room.

“I can’t get over her. I…. I don’t want to do it without her,” Hosea said with some remorse.

Then the presence vanished and left him without a response.

Hosea rubbed his eyes and sat on a recliner, he pulled the handle and laid with his head to the ceiling.

He thought about the consequences of failing Harvest, knowing he would be abandoned by Moriah and slandered in the outside world.

He was halfway through, none closer than the beginning.

He lit a cigarette, picked up his phone, and called his agent. “I will do an interview with Solomon from 106.9 KLLY.”

Once the conversation was over and the plans were set, Hosea hung the phone up and smiled.

He was going to get Salome back.

science fiction
Like

About the Creator

Rhett Alexander Hamilton

On a treasure excursion, in the deep forests of Fiji, a local had entrusted me with a magical emerald pen - leading me to become one of the most prominent writers in American literature.

Pseudonyms: Alexander (Adult) and Ana Mercer (Y/A)

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.