Aftertaste

By: James Finkle

Alexander Bishop took the vial of milky blue fluid handed to him as he paid entrance to the club. There were many who objected to the use of it, but it had been legal since the Empire’s edict of 2130. The cover fee got him the first dose, and as long as he was willing to pay for more he could stay in the club as long as he liked. He bit through the soft plastic cap and took a swig, tasting the bitter solution flavored with artificial cherry. Despite its best efforts, the flavor could not cover up the chalky aftertaste, which left him gagging. He took a seat and waited for the effects to kick in. It was obvious when they had, as his world suddenly changed. The neuro-enhancers seeped into his brain and nanomachines mingled with the ones already in his bloodstream, slowing the process of detoxification and furthering the effects of the drug. The first sense to succumb to the effects was smell, suddenly a pungent aroma filled his nostrils.

     “Hm… smells like Void Impakt is playing again today,” he mused, picking out the distinct scent of the band’s chord progressions. Hearing came next, bringing the faint melody up from the background, turning it into a raging inferno of music. He took a deep breath, and as taste became enhanced he picked up a distinct spicy taste in his mouth, a sure sign that Void Impakt was playing another angst- and rage-filled number. Last to succumb to the effects was sight, the most important. As the drug kicked in fully the dull room suddenly came to life. The band was surrounded by an aura of red, laced with patterns of black. Each enraged lyric physically appeared from the singer’s mouth, traveling a short bit before dissipating. Waves of music flowed over the crowd, also imbued with auras that were slowly shifting towards red. Alexander felt the change coming over him as well, with a sudden spark of rage.

“Why won’t the answers come?” he grumbled, the infectious rage passing through him. “Why can’t I remember who I am?” His rage-filled thoughts subsided as the band finished its song and moved onto the next, a slower ballad brimming with love and loss. Pink and blue swirled slowly out from the stage, entangling with the auras of the audience. Some broke into tears, accentuated visibly through the effects of the drug. Others held their lovers close, vowing never to leave. Alexander had a flash from his shrouded past, a pair of black-lined blue eyes staring up at him. He felt a trickle down one cheek, but his answers were no clearer.

The musicians ended their set, the singer stepping off the stage for mingling and refreshments. Alexander ordered a drink with another shot of the drug in it, refreshing his rush. He watched the musician approach an attractive girl sitting in the corner, saw the words form from his proposition to her. He saw her blush, the red traveling out from her cheeks through her aura, and saw the words “I’m sorry” escape from her lips. The musician’s aura turned a deep blue and he slunk off. He returned to the microphone, letting the audience know about the club’s open mic policy, that anyone who wished to come up and sing was allowed to do so, as long as they waited for a break between songs to come up. He then started into another song, the other members setting down their beverages and joining him one by one. His song twisted out soulfully, enhanced by the prominent tones from an instrument that looked like it had a distant ancestor in the baritone saxophone. Waves of azure swept over the audience, darkening the moods of the onlookers. Alexander’s mood darkened with theirs, slipping deeper into a depression fueled by the futility of his endeavor.

“It’s been almost a year now Alexander, and still you’ve come no closer to figuring out who you really are,” he mused, ordering another drink. One of the audience members walked up to the stage, and the singer took a step back from the mic, picking up a guitar. The newcomer was a towering man clad in black, with long hair and bizarre eyes. Despite the lingering azure overtones, the new singer’s aura was an unmistakable green laced with black. His voice was a booming baritone, echoing through the club as he sang a chant-like, almost spiritual song. Rather than carry the meaning of the song, the waves of the music enhanced his aura, radiating it across the audience. Soon others joined in the chant, enthralled by the music. Alexander found that he too was chanting, caught up in the act. Suddenly his worries seemed far away, and he was lost in the song. When the stranger on stage finished he stepped off the stage and over to the bar, close to where Alexander was sitting.

“Allow me to buy your next round,” Alexander said, ordering one from the barkeep and pushing it over to the stranger. “My name is Alexander Bishop, and that was truly enjoyable.”

The stranger nodded, accepting the drink. “Thank you, Alexander. I am Jason Xavier DeLane. Why not try your own hand at a song?” he suggested, waving his arm towards the stage.

With serum coursing through his veins Alexander could hardly refuse, and he stepped up to the microphone. Not knowing where to begin, he just radiated emotion for a minute, infecting the band with his feelings. They started up a beat, enforced by intertwining melodies. Alexander opened his mouth, and spilled out his soul, his longing, his desperation, his quest for answers. As lyrics entwined with music, a tapestry of color and emotion was formed, radiating across the crowd. Alexander opened his eyes fully and took a deep breath, engaging all of his senses. In that moment, everything seemed so clear. Alexander had tried sensory deprivation in an attempt to spark a memory, but he had never tried sensory overload, which was what he was experiencing right then. A flood of memories washed over him, warping his song to one of triumph and joy. Waves of pure yellow washed over the room, and each person’s emotions stood out like a beacon against the backdrop of ecstasy. Alexander smiled a wicked smile as he stepped off the stage, basking in the glory of his rediscovered past. He was lost in a flood of memories; Memories of slaying aliens and saving the universe, of virtue and pain. He was nearly crushed under the sudden weight of his situation. As he left the club in a daze, he murmured, “Why couldn’t I have left well enough alone?”