He awoke, and he was not at home. His entire horizon was surrounded by the greenest grass, the most textured trees, and the brightest fruits glistening under crystal clear skies. The air was crisp as in Autumn while flowers bloomed as bright as in Spring. Every fruit on every tree pulsated as it morphed into a new fruit in marvelous synchronization resembling fireflies dancing across a summer night.
He walked—or was it more like floating—up to the nearest fruit tree, about 100 yards away. The glow of fruit sparkled yet it did not hurt the eyes but felt similar to when a splash of cold water causes them to relax. Being hungry, he went to pluck what was a peach grander than any he had seen, even in Georgia. He went in for a bite and had the sensation of juices exploding into his mouth, except there was no residue. It felt as if cold juice was flowing into every nerve of his body, awakening sublimity.
He laid down in the shade of the tree, being caressed by the softness of the earth and eased by the care of the careless wind. He drifted into sleep, feeling as if he was a gentle worm swimming through the core of a fruit.
Suddenly, thunder bellowed and an army of goblins descended from the clouds like rain. He jolted from his slumber and rushed into a crack in an adjacent boulder covered in moss. He hung his suit jacket, which happened to match the color of the boulder over the crack and got in the prone position to watch the terrible events unfold.
The goblins organized themselves, standing shoulder-to-shoulder and linked arm-to-arm underneath every row in the orchard. As soon as the chief goblin gave the command to harvest, each row of goblins turned into a tint of yellow and orange, resembling a wire. After a few seconds, the goblins buzzed as sparks flew from each wire and the wire’s brightness increased. A resounding ping cracked as each wire sliced the trunk of every tree in its row. The falling trees made the most awful thunder, and the fruits shot up into the air and fell down to the ground like hail. The goblins, having faded into their original form and color, raised a spear into the sky and then began to pluck every fruit from on the grounds.
Meanwhile, the chief goblin had pushed a giant caldron into the center of the orchard, which now was more like a wasteland.
“Throw!” commanded the chief goblin.
The spears projected into the sky and all was black, until a magnificent boom introduced a constellation of glowing colors, emanating from the radiance of the fruits, pulsated in the sky. The caldron glowed like a coal in a fire, and, like a magnet, it received the fruits on every spear that accelerated toward it in a seemingly celestial frenzy.
Then, just as the crescendo of the splashing caldron-goo was about to reach a peak, deafening silence thundered. Fog poured in like the crashing of a giant wave. The only sight remained the glowing caldron. The foggy silence had held for five minutes—which felt like an eternity to the onlooker—until a rumble reverberated and the whole land trembled.
Silence returned, but it lasted all but half a minute when a beam of pumpkin-orange light exploded from the caldron and the caldron-goo rushed upward like the very reversal of a crashing wave. Once erect like a tower, the top of the orange wall bent and began a rotation that sucked everything below into a vortex.
“Drum!” shouted the commanding goblin.
The goblins, who had been standing in a ring around the caldron began to beat their drums. This time, the noise did reach the climax of a crescendo. At that point, the vortex morphed into a solid orb expanding into a volcanic glow.
The onlooking man felt his eyes swirl like a lollipop, and his eyes faded into black.
When his eyes opened, he was could see the orchard appearing just as it had been when he first arrived. He was relieved to know it had all been a dream—until he recognized he was still on his belly and within the boulder.
He crawled out through the crack, recovering his jacket. He noticed what had changed. Each pulsating fruit’s color had been altered. The forms were still recognizable, but there was an orange blot spanning half of the fruit.
Nauseous and yet hungry, he went to pluck an apple when he suddenly saw a blue orb jet in from the corner of his eye. He faded again into sleep. Awaking, he found himself in a bed chamber of a great castle, except he was sitting on a throne in garments fit for a king. Then, the most beautiful lady entered with white hair touching the floor and a blue dress that radiated like the clear skies.
She bowed herself to the ground.
“Your Majesty, I do hope that you will forgive me for having overtaken you with my orb. It was only sleep, and we have nourished and dressed you as fitting for a king,” she spoke in a voice as soothing as it was powerful.
She continued, “You see this is your realm. You have never been here. Well, of course you have, in some sense, but never in this…real..way. This is the land of Soul, and I have been its custodian as Intellect. Forever am I at your service, Igor. This land is your kingdom, and so, you are its king. So, when I saw you attempting to eat from the tree, I had to overtake you. That fruit is not what it was before, since the Great Mixture, which you witnessed. We had hoped to bring you here earlier, but since the Earth’s gravity is stronger than ever, the friction to pull you up was too great.”
Then Intellect, in all her beauty broke down into beautiful tears—tears made beautiful from joy and care intermingling.
“The land has not been the same since those goblins came. In hindsight, the brewings of invasion had manifested long before, but it did come upon us so suddenly. That hideous vortex-turned-orb feel back into the caldron with its volcanic glow. The goblins restored the orchard but injected the volcanic-goo into the trunk of every tree. Now, each fruit is blotted with that awful goblin-orange. Ah! Those Forms on every branch that I cared for with all of my wisdom and all of my heart, are now contaminated by the goblins. The trees bear more fruit than ever before, and, for now, the fruits are still sweet. However, each fruit now leaves a residue upon each bite, and who knows what other effects the injected goblin goo on those who taste. So, that is why I would not let you have it, hungry as you were. Dear Sir, what shall we do?”
You would think the king would be in such a shock that his throat would be clamped shut. Yet, as fluidly as he had walked to the tree when he first arrived at Intellect’s orchard, he gave counsel.
“We remove the trace of the goblin goo from each tree. Has this not been done?”
“Why, my King, we have tried many things but no permanent means of removal has been found. The goo always remains,” replied the beautiful lady who had gained some composure.
To be continued