Lost Art of Mystery

Lying on his back against the cool marble floor, he stared at the gilded ceiling, momentarily admiring the crystal and gold leaf chandelier overhead. Suddenly, a cold sweat broke out over his face as he realized he had fallen. His body felt heavy and oddly disconnected. He moaned, but nothing came out. He opened his mouth and tried to call for help, but again, silence. He looked to the left for the call button pull cord next to the golden toilet throne, but when he tried to reach for it, his arm didn’t work. He turned deep crimson with anger and frustration at being unable to make a sound as he heard footsteps pass by the bathroom door. He lay paralyzed and seething. His ubiquitous cell phone must had slipped out of his hands when he fell over in the midst of one of his nocturnal social media posting frenzies. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what it was about, and whether he had hit the “post” button. He knew it was a good one. They always were. Of course his hand-picked media department did an excellent job in creating what they called “AI Slop for the masses”, but he preferred to write his own posts and he took great pride his “from the gut” content. Even when there was pushback from staffers, he got his way and said whatever he felt in the moment. He agreed that some things were a bit risky, but he thrived on the attention and reactions from around the world. The Department Of Damage Control protected him from any backlash.

He closed his eyes and waited. Someone would notice his presence missing shortly. The staff knew his late night habits all too well. While waiting, he dozed off, dreaming of large gold buildings, bombs and beautiful blonde girls congratulating him on his successes. Money rained down over him and fell into buckets at his feet as he stood on a podium smiling at the roaring crowds. He fell into a deep sleep.

He woke to a very strange sensation of tickling around his legs. The sensations quickly surrounded his entire body. The prickly odd pressure became stronger. It felt as though he was being wrapped in cellophane, something he had tried once with a few girls he’d hired through a friend. When he tried to move, he was still paralyzed and couldn’t say a word even when his mouth was wide open. Something dark caught his eye as he looked up at the ceiling. In his peripheral vision there were dark lines in motion. Almost like animated dotted lines. More and more of them appeared on the ceiling and at the same time the prickling sensation was getting stronger and moving across and over his entire body. He closed his eyes and willed someone to come help him. Surely this was a mini stroke or exhaustion. He was healthy as an ox, but maybe lately he had been over doing it. The meetings, golf trips and jet lag from all of the travel. He waited.

The tickling became strangely uncomfortable and almost needle sharp. He tried to lift his head to look at his body, but he was still unable to move. He began to itch and feel painful tiny jabs. He stared, horrified to see that the entire ceiling and walls were now encrusted with black moving lines and the lines were merging together. His body began to itch and he was finding breathing a bit difficult. He tried to kick a leg, but nothing. He felt an odd wave of pressure moving across his large belly and over his entire torso. Something was lifting his giant body. Slowly, ever so slowly, he felt he was being moved. He closed his eyes, assuming that help had arrived and he was being taken care of. Yes, he was definitely being moved. He sighed with relief and closed his eyes as he let them do their work. He knew he would be fine. He always was. Untouchable, he liked to call himself, like Teflon.

He watched the ceiling above and counted crystal chandeliers as he was carried across the large white marble and gold bathroom. The walls seemed to be crawling with large black ants, but he knew it was just an illusion. He closed his eyes and thought about his next vacation instead. Shortly, he was being placed in a strange corridor. He felt the pressure and pinching around his entire big body. Now even his head was involved. Not the hair, he thought, not the hair! His hair was his pride and joy and had cost thousands and thousands to maintain. He felt the crawling sensation spreading from his scalp over his forehead and down over his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and reminded himself that this was just a fall, a mishap. No big deal.

Exhausted, he fell into a deep, deep sleep. In his dreams he was king of the entire planet. He sat on a golden toilet throne admonishing those in the audience who asked him about the environment. He was flanked by his family and all of his perfect blonde girlfriends. He pointed to photos of massive cityscapes, and then to the big beautiful “Wall of Extinction”. He went on to explain all of the sacrifices that had been made for his big beautiful cities and monuments to be built. Glass and gold everywhere. No room for nature allowed. Almightly oil was on display in giant ornately decorated tanks in the lobby of each building. He heard the crowd roar and saw himself on the podium with golden flowing hair and a deep tan. He had won.

Meanwhile, there was a kerfuffle in the hallway as the security tried to pry open the bathroom door. They knocked a few times and heard nothing. A few other staff members stood in a hushed group waiting. Security was told to break in because this might be an emergency. Two guards told everyone to stand back as they used force to break down the door. The light was on, and everything looked intact. As they made their way through the large elegant bathroom, they passed by the golden throne and saw the phone lying on the floor in the corner. One of them used a gloved hand to pick it up and bag it, while the other continued to clear the room. It was empty with no signs of foul play. Maybe he’d left through the other exit and forgotten his phone. Unlikely, but they needed to check all possibilities. They headed across the spotless marble floor towards the exit onto a private balcony. On the ground was a white plush robe with his initials embroidered in gold thread. It was slightly rumpled and a bit dingy around the edges, but nothing out of the ordinary. Immediately they looked over the balcony with great concern, but saw nothing and nobody. One of the security guards turned to the other and pointed, mouth agape. They turned in unison to see a massive legion of large ants pouring out from the balcony floor through the gutter exit. Each one carried a bit of fluff and stuff in their mandibles, and they moved swiftly in unison. The perplexed guards then followed the ants, which required going outside and trailing them for a mile or so. That’s when they saw it, a gigantic ant hill behind an ancient tree on the far lawn. It was hidden in plain sight. The ants filed into the anthill by the millions, carrying the prey deep within and never to be seen again.