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I'm not exactly sure when I noticed that the world around me had gone…soft. Life certainly wasn't like this when I was a child. Time moved on in a very linear fashion then, and everything was where you expected it to be when you expected it to be there, and when you broke things, they stayed broken (and believe me, I broke a lot of things). It was probably around the same time I started at Scumbag College, come to think of it. Gradually, over the course of weeks, it became apparent that something very strange was happening to the world outside my door. People and objects appearing and disappearing at random. Inanimate objects becoming shockingly animate. Mythical creatures wandering down the street. The house suddenly finding itself in another place, or era. Events so strange you'd think they'd be on the Six O'Clock News every night, but never a peep.
Do you know how many times I've smashed the front window? Fifty. At least. At the very least. And within a matter of hours, so long as no one looks at it for a while, I'll come back into the room and it'll be mended. Just like that. On its own. I mean, that's really just encouragement to smash it again, but it's also just very, extremely bloody strange. Whole house is the same way. Except when it isn't. Seems to decide of its own accord whether or not it'll mend itself and its contents.
The whole world's like that, to some degree. There's an alleyway down at the end of the block that sometimes dead-ends just outside the garden, and sometimes goes straight through to the other side of the block, and sometimes it isn't even there at all. Streets are bloody difficult to navigate, as well. Sometimes they won't take you where you expect to go, especially when you don't have anywhere to go in-particular. When you've got a destination in mind, things seem to settle down and let you get there, but when you haven't? Chaos. Utter chaos.
I quite like it, to be honest.
The only time it really seems to calm down, even a little, is when the four of us are all in the same room, or at the very least the same house. It seems the more distance we put between each other, the more chaotic the world becomes. If I'm driving or walking somewhere alone, without a specific place to go? Forget it - I could be gone for hours. One of my favorite things to do is just go out and wander about, by myself, see where I can end up. Ended up in Manchester, once. Took an hour to get there. Took three hours to get home. And if you've ever lost something, wander about for a while. The world is bound to spit it up eventually, as if stirring up the chaos long enough brings the things that belong to you to the top of the soup pot. But when the four of us decide to walk down to the pub or the laundrette, it's smooth sailing - though our surroundings are often anything but. It's as if there's this bubble around us wherever we go, keeping the nonsense at bay.
Frankly, I think the house is involved as well. When any of us are at home alone, things don't seem too strange - well, maybe a little. But leave the house alone and things go mad. And what's more, when the four of us are together, the world seems to almost…revolve around us. Like everything that's happening is happening just because we're there. I'm really not one to believe in fate or destiny, but it does appear, in lack of any evidence to the contrary, that the four of us are somehow meant to live here, in this exact house, with these exact people, as if it's what's keeping the world together or something (Do I sound mad? I think I sound mad. But I also think I'm right. But then, don't madmen always think they're right? I'd rather not continue down this line of thought). I think Mike knows it. I think Mike angled to keep us in this house on purpose, because he sees what's going on, same as I do. I think Mike might even see what's going on a bit more than I do.
Another odd thing, I'll often feel as though I'm being watched. And occasionally, I'll feel compelled to turn to a random point in the house and talk to the unseen eyes staring at me - though not as much anymore, strangely enough. I swear I'm not insane. I know it isn't only me, I've seen Mike and Neil do it loads of times, too. Only one who seems completely oblivious, to all of it, is Rick. And really - no surprise there. He can barely wrap his mind around what's going on between his ears, never mind anything outside his own head. Don't get me started. But even now, I'm writing this down while I'm supposed to be writing a paper on disorders of the lymphatic system, and I have no idea why. And I just know that somehow, somebody's going to read it, even though I'm planning to throw it away as soon as whatever's compelling me to do it in the first place fucks off and leaves me alone. And odder, I get the feeling whoever will read it is most likely female, and at least somewhat interested in me. (Hi girls, wanna' see how many push-ups I can do?) How the fuck would I know that, and further, why the fuck would that even be the case?
Chaos. I'm telling you. Utter chaos.