Hyperspace

By Stanley I. Brookoff

HYPERSPACE is about a man with a malfunctioning brain. Triggered by his inability to consummate a relationship with a warm, alluring, high-spirited, and extraordinarily beautiful young woman, the protagonists vivid pictorial imagination and great power of memory-recall show the reader pathetic, heartrending, tragic and chilling events in his life. After the first depiction of a traumatic childhood scene, Jason walks into a semi-desert plain. In the darkening evening he "befriends" a small twinkling star visible to him as he stands near a rocky peak. When he "realizes" that it "guided" him in his walk, drew him away from his home, in order that they meet, he "reaches out" to it. This star then becomes Jasons focus of escaping from hell. After his failure with the woman, he boards a "spacecraft"to travel to his star friend, beginning a voyage whose final destination will shock and chill the reader.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 4, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452042831

Stanley I. Brookoff

Brooklyn born and bred, the author of HYPERSPACE, after years of experience, study, research, and interaction, contends that the world is a Lunatic Asylum. HYPERSPACE offers to the reading public one of his explanations as to why. Other explanations are coming . . .

Book preview

Remember d’Oro

(For Bonnie Hart of Brooklyn - Benson Avenue’s Eduring Heart)

Neither precious stones nor precious metal, nor lucre of any kind be my Hart;

lowness like this she far transcending, while beyond inferior temporal earth

my quest be incomparably mindfully finer with no mediocre soulless pursuits;

no bloodless, nerveless, petty crumbs of life when I know that something

is splendidly higher,

even than musical soul-drops of my words:

My Hart, for whom I’ve waited millennia and who for millennia has waited

for me.

Like Diamonds and Gold our love be, Bonnie Diamonds and Bonnie Gold she. When the Highest’s shatterproof promise be kept, an Age defying Curse shall break,

and my Hart and I shall finally be free though the world to destruction they

now surely take,

lunacy wildly steering its ship; yet my Hart and me shall the world’s people

follow,

the indestructible Dream being from God, and crashing on this shall the evil

ones break,

while we other ones turn towards rainbowed tomorrows, with my Hart and I

d’Oro remembering,

it blinding our sight with love’s ageless bright glow, eternal lights bursting

from Diamonds and Gold.

Experiencing and visualizing simultaneously the cool, soft darkness surrounding him, engulfing him, while, from his reclining position with his head on pillow in slight elevation, staring into the night sky, bright sparks are titillating Jason with their shining and winking.

Too much big city light.

Discerning multifarious twinkling tints amidst the sparse city view, his gaze is constantly focusing on a scintillating dot of bluish hue somewhat elevated above various fairly low residential structures.

Grasping the tie knot hugging his neck, with his left hand pulling it down, he is opening his top collar button. "Thank god," he is breathing while rubbing his neck, feeling the air refreshing the recently imprisoned skin. Supine, fully dressed, but for the absence of his shoes, feet hanging just over the bed’s edge, he is continuing looking at the bright point of blue blinking through his window.

night0 What a goddamn night!

Unable to control the flood of images cramming his mind--women, men, blasting music, alcohol, food, the boss, Pat . . . Look at him now slapping backs and offering witticisms. A goddamn boss act! Watching his emphatically waving hand making a point to one of the salesmen, a thin stream of white smoke curling upwards into the air from the thick cigar he is holding between the fingers of the motionless hand held at his waist . . . was up to three packs a day in the navy he’d said0 Watching the boss speaking to several salespeople--holding his cigar, oblivious to the emanating pollution--Jason is recalling his navy friend’s comment at the other job: had to quit . . . i couldn’t breathe air anymore, never mind smoke . . .0 Continuing observing the scene before him as his navy friend’s voice is trailing off into his memory’s recesses . . . Why are you all alone Jason? Why don’t you have some fun? a light, pleasant female voice, breaking into his thoughts, is asking. Turning left slightly, viewing a blonde, pink female form in blue standing before him . . . Are you looking off into the mysterious foggy future? her soft pleasant voice is playfully asking.

No! Actually, I’m looking at the big boss’ odoriferous mechanism of atmospheric toxicity. She is breaking into a gay irrepressible laugh, he smiling. You do have a way with words, Jason, don’t you? Continuing smiling, her womanly appearance is confronting him with her long bright blonde hair descending, strands resting on her ninety-nine percent bare shoulders, large waves streaming in a flow behind her . . . Why don’t we leave here Jason? Come over to my place where we can talk without all this horrendous racket. Ossifying the pleasant warmth currently infusing Jason is a sudden chill. Where do you live? his voice sounding distant to him.

Oh, not far. In the neighborhood . . . a few blocks, actually.

Ok, while feeling deeply penetrating knife stabs, his intellectual assessment that he is committing an extremely serious error dominating his thinking even while flashing through his mind is an image of office laughter that he is refusing such an offer, with ensuing questions amongst personnel as to what exactly is wrong with Jason. C’mon! Pat is saying, while with unexpected suddeness she is reaching out grabbing his left hand in her right; he, perceiving a flashing in her eyes, internally freezing. 0 His viscera in turmoil he is feeling her small hand holding his, his vision centering on her perfectly proportioned slim girl’s shape as she is beginning walking, he trailing slightly behind, a tiny hand-chain of two blond links wending its way through pockets of people standing or moving about in the center of the large room. Seeing Tony and Jill in the periphery of his vision to his left, each holding a drink, they waving to him; Jason, turning slightly, mechanically raising his free hand, waving in response . . . Ready? . . . her soft friendly tone sounding in his ears seemingly implying much more than mere readiness to leave . . . Yup! on, she is saying, feigning a whine. You don’t want to be up all night, do you? Instantaneously transmitting through his neuronal wiring is a powerful electrical shock stunning him into a frozen, almost paralyzed state by his sudden and full awareness of the current situation into which he is stepping, as if into an escape-proof trap, he hating himself for his stupidity, gulping reflexively, the intestinal claw tightening around his viscera. Walking up to her, the tight claw relentlessly clenching within, they are descending down several concrete steps to the sidewalk. Turning left, continuing half a block to the corner, turning left again, beginning walking down a semi-lit street, a phalanx of evenly spaced oaks lining the curb paralleling their direction, Jason is feeling a light cool breeze slicing through his blazer cutting his flesh as he is viewing someone speedily approaching through the darkness, drawing near, breaking into the narrow parameter of his sight. Watching him slithering by like a shadow, seeing the shadow slowing its pace, observing it taking notice of them while continuing walking in their direction, viewing its presence adjacent to Pat, the shadow-become-substance is sweeping his eyes up and down her form whistling and, looking at Jason for less than a second, picking up his speed. Lucky bastard, are words ebbing into the darkening evening’s silence as Pat’s right hand is enclosing around Jason’s left. C’mon luv. It ain’t gettin’ early! Jason, look! indicating with her chin that the lock should be the object of his attention, he watching her pulling the key partially out, pushing it in, pulling it out, pushing it in with quick jerking motions. Looking up at him with a broad smile . . . See how easy it is?" she is rhetorically questioning, while in a second gagging is constricting his throat. With the door swinging open and the lights switching on at the behest of Pat’s hand waving over a switch, Jason is dumbly following her into the house. . . . relax0 Walking behind her to the room’s center wondering if the heaviness in his legs is retarding his gait he is seeing her stopping suddenly, turning towards him. Looking directly into his eyes, smiling, she is beginning, one button at a time, unbuttoning her light blue jacket, exposing her slim form, petit breasts with visible nipple points protruding through the material. 0 The squeezing visceral claw is inwardly tightening. Her voice soft and soothing . . . Take your jacket off and have a seat. I’ll make something to drink. Her face bright with smiling, she is pulling a slim arm out of the jacket with one hand, is reaching for and grasping the jacket’s opposite sleeve with the newly freed hand, pulling the garment off, her motions seeming passionately slow as Jason is trying strenuously to avoid eye contact with her semi-clothed slightly quivering breasts. Yet she completes the task in seconds, finally tossing the garment on the sofa standing against the livingroom wall opposite the tiny kitchen area. Turning, approaching the sofa, again turning, facing frontwards, removing his sports jacket and throwing it atop Pat’s jacket lying on the inward side of the sofa, Jason is seating himself to the extreme right, closer to the entrance’s wall. Would you like hot or cold dear? Oh, um, hot . . . a regular coffee, actually.

"No problem, luv. I think I’ll have a light one myself," her lovely smooth voice sounding in his ears, her beautiful hazel eyes continuing staring into him, he wondering if there exists an appropriate response and, unable to decide, stupidity and failure feelings welling within. Watching her proceeding into the kitchen area, a small partially enclosed extension of the livingroom, he is beginning imagining what she looks like under her clothes, the vivid mental image he is viewing leaving him physically and emotionally untouched, panicky feelings increasing along with the claw’s tightening visceral grip.

Wheeling around from the kitchen area Pat is approaching the refrigerator in the livingroom proper, the machine standing with its back against the section of wall near the aperture serving as the kitchen’s entrance/exit. Jason, watching her girlish form as she is opening the refrigerator, removing a jar, is hearing her soft, kindly voice. "Sorry. I only have