Category: fiction

A mask of bulging eyes and snapping fangs pulled up to Maureen’s face.
CLAK CLAK CLAK CLAK!
“SHIT!” she shouted, clutching her chest and laughing.
She turned to the elderly Japanese couple standing next to her, watching the parade.
“He scared the crap out of me!” They laughed and nodded.
The four-legged beast CLAK, CLAK-ed again before re-joining the procession, with sun glinting off the jewelled mane of its costume, and knee-length white hair swaying to the rhythmic clashing of drums and cymbals.

The rest of the villagers were dressed in their ceremonial finery, laden with fruit and flowers, in a cloud of incense. Women wearing brightly coloured batik sarongs and sashes balanced baskets on their heads, while the men in white sarongs and bandanas carried a huge gong hanging from a bamboo pole on their shoulders. They accompany the scary beast ‘Barong’ – the guardian of all forces of good, on the walk to the ancient sea temple.

The ceremony wasn’t a show for the tourists, although there were plenty lining the pathway. The procession passed through the crowd as though they weren’t even there, the locals not so much as making eye contact when having camera phones waved at their faces. The line filed down to the shoreline. They picked their way across the rocky path through the sea to the tiny islet, then scaled stone steps to disappear one by one behind ancient dark walls.

Maureen was happy that non-worshippers weren’t allowed inside the temple. On her travels through Asia, she’d watched as scantily-clad content creators draped themselves over religious relics, and queued at waterfalls to make photo shoots in yoga poses with their arses out. They filmed themselves eating dinner in local warungs without even finishing the meal. Their disrespect had really started to grate on her, which messed with her peaceful hippy vibe. You should never be disgruntled while wearing a tie-dye kaftan.

Thanks to ‘Sunset At The Ancient Sea Temple’ being listed online as ‘Highly Instagrammable,’ there was the usual cohort of ‘Turkey-Teethed’ couples. Their smiles were thanks to the trend of discount dental tourism in Istanbul, where you turn up with regular-sized wonky molars and return home with face full of luminescent piano keys. The ‘perfectly preened’ wandered about with camera phones aimed at themselves from the end of extended arms. You had to be vigilant not to get clattered by an influencers elbow.

Maureen preferred to think of herself as a traveller rather than a tourist. She would read up on the history of a place and its people, learn the little pleasantries, buy from the locals, and never take the offered plastic bag. She loved the significance of the ceremony. The eternal struggle of good over evil, defending the pure of heart against malevolent forces. She was herself on a spiritual journey after all, searching for peace and harmony in these increasingly volatile times.

A street vendor had found Maureen at the entrance to the promenade, her hands placed on the carved stone gateway. She was attempting to make a psychic connection with the artisan who’d chipped away at it five centuries ago, to let him know how much she admired his work.

“Buy one?” the seller asked while flapping a batik-patterned fan at her face.
“You know, I’ve already bought three of these, but I keep losing them,” she told her as she bought another one.
“Sampunang nyingakin ipun ring panyingakan,” smiled the vendor.
“I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure it’s nice… good luck and have a lovely day.”
“Sama sama, you too.”

She picked a good spot for the sunset, and sat on the pathway wall at the bottom of a grassy slope. People were now lining up with tripods, extending selfie sticks, and checking their hair and angles. A couple started to set up right in front of her, blocking her view while totally oblivious that she was glaring at them like a vegan staring down a steak dinner.

“Bloody influencers..” she murmured, “..influenzas more like” and climbed up to sit higher on the slope, taking off her flip-flops to feel the grass beneath her toes. She watched the content creators while they got ready. The young woman was positioning herself against the balustrade, dressed in a white cocktail dress with eyelashes so big they could’ve scratched an itch on the top of her head. The dude with his casually quaffed hair, and unnaturally smooth white vest, was the Spielberg of the pair, darting back and forth to adjust the tripod and check the camera.

They had a practice run:
“Wow guys, sunset at the sea temple really is a must-see!” she beams, looking back over her shoulder.
“One for the bucket list!” he bursts, and then they stop so he can go see how it looks.

The street seller appeared on the pathway, her basket of goods on a scarf around her neck like an old-school cinema usherette with a tray of sweets. There’s a young boy with her, still in his ceremonial sarong and wearing his own little barong mask. He skips in front of fan lady and chooses a couple of Tik-Tokers on the balustrade to go and stare at. He stomps up to them and stands defiantly with his hands behind his back tilting his head from side to side. They laugh when they notice him and want to take his picture, but he turns and skips back as fan lady calls him over. Cheeky little chap.

Fan lady spots Maureen up on the slope and stops.
“Your boy?” Maureen calls out.
Shaking her head,“friend son”. She points to the fan she’s holding up to her face, and then to Maureen.
“Yes, I’ve not lost this one yet, look” picking her’s up and flapping it about.
Fan lady squints her eyes and points in the direction of the descending sun.
“Haha, yes, it is also good for shade, but I’d miss the sunset!”

The mini barong face at her side had been following the exchange between the two like he was watching the ball in a tennis match. He was now jiggling impatiently. The vendor said something to him, and they both gave a wave before strolling on. Maureen waved back. Such lovely people…. and that chic sure knows how to sell a fan. She watches as they continue on the path, imagining the little fella scaring each of the growing line of Tik-Tok-ers enough that they fall over the balustrade and into the sea as they pass.

“You’re just a grumpy old fart,” Maureen murmured to herself, and felt a pang of guilt for being so mean. This is just how the younger generation is now. Times have changed. Back in her day, when you wanted your photo taken, you would ask a total stranger. There would be some polite chit-chat, then you would all get on with enjoying the view. Then you’d get your photos developed, and find out that you’d asked that one random dude who always cuts the top of everyone’s heads off in pictures.

And we would have a laugh about it too, she thought. Now people are slaves to their devices and the image they choose to project. How do you know if you’re even you anymore or just a character for an online audience? She scanned the crowd sadly. They’re like AI writing, it might look good, but when you get up close, there’s no soul, no authenticity, no frailty, no errors…. a copy of something with a human heartbeat. A sticker of the Sistine Chapel on your toilet ceiling. Replicants, like in Blade Runner. Maybe that’s it, they’re synthetic. Made up from pieces of discarded electronic devices with fish lips and inflated pecs slapped on. Those LED ring lights they use are their recharging stations, just stick your face in to power up.

Maureen had a good imagination. She put it down to the copious amounts of psychedelic drugs she’d done in the ’90s. They had really opened up those neural pathways. The sun had gotten lower and the crowd was becoming silhouetted against the sky. Mr White-Vest goes to reset the shot for the fifteenth time. He catches his foot on the tripod, which stays upright while he lands splayed out on the floor, his face bouncing off the concrete before coming to a rest. She scurries down to go and help him, instantly regretting that her bad thoughts willed this to happen.

“Oh man! Are you okay? You went down like a ton of bricks!” She crouched beside him.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position, as she leaned in and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Listen, go easy eh? You could have a concussion, how are you fee…..”
The hand she’d put on his shoulder tingled, pulsed, and sent a shock up her arm, sending her to the ground. She sat there wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

The skin on the left side of his face had broken and folded up like a crumpled sheet of pastry.
The gap where it used to be… a mesh of moving golden threads.
His vest turned a shade of blue with the message,
:( Your PC has ran into a problem and needs to restart
It flickered and turned back to white.
He smiled, smoothed the skin flap back down, stood up and went to check the camera.

She couldn’t breathe.
Eyelashes was still hugging the balustrade, and the entire row of content creators were still.
All of them looking in her direction.
A crowd of silhouettes punctuated by a glow of Turkey-Teeth.
Maureen’s legs moved before her brain did, she lunged up the wall to the grass slope and caught her feet in her kaftan. Scrambling up, she sprinted towards the old stone gateway.

“No, no, no, no, no, no! What the hell was that? What the feck??!”
She didn’t stop to check behind her until she’d gotten to the line of trees at the top of the slope.
No one was following.
She’d left her flip-flops and fan, but they could stay there.

The vendor was standing alone at the gates when she reached them. She didn’t know what to say and just stood, gasping for air, bent over with hands on her knees while still checking behind her.
“Sampunang nyingakin ipun ring panyingakan,” said the vendor.
“I don’t know…..what that means,” she breathed.
The vendor leaned in and said softly,
“Don’t look them in the eyes.”
“What?” Maureen looked up, but the seller was gone.

Barefoot and nauseas she walked through the gates and into the street. A group of locals sat on a wall and a crash-helmeted man was stood talking to them. He stopped and stepped forward when he saw her.
“Moto taxi Ibu?”
Maureen looked back through the gates once more “……err, okay, yes.”
She sat on the back of the motorbike, head spinning, the warm breeze, the street lights passing in a blur. When they had gotten closer to the homestay, she tapped the guy’s shoulder and asked him to stop at a mall, and wait for her while she got some shopping and a takeaway dinner.

It was dark by the time they reached the village homestay, the landlady and her family were already settled in behind closed doors for the night. She paid the driver and walked the dimly-lit pathway to her room. Putting the food containers and serviettes on the terrace table, she sat down and pulled the plastic bag onto her lap to unpack her purchases.

Maureen slotted the phone into the holder on the tripod to film herself eating dinner.
The ring light needed charging.
Instead of the usual three attempts to get the USB cable into the slot, it slipped in smoothly on the first try.
“Wow guys!” she said to no one, “that never happens!”.

Parallax Visions: altering the angles of reality – Reverse Engineering Writing Contest – 3rd place winner