That night, as I was walking towards the water dispenser to fill water in my bottle; I noticed a massive space ship landed beside my hostel block. It was badly damaged, lacerated all over the spherical surface fuming red hot sulphuric acid gases. On its way, the space ship must have hit the light post and the adjacent compound wall, for the wall was no more and the flag post melting under the exposed heat of the ship’s surface. The spherical ship was balanced on a tripod that extended into the ground floor corridors of the hostel block and curiously enough, one of the legs pierced through the cement structure above the stair case as if the structure was virtually inexistent for the sphere’s legs.
Everything was happening so fast that I failed to notice the sphere’s apparently wavy surface. With every foreign particle that hits the surface of the sphere, the disturbance created by the impact traveled through the cross sectional surface of the sphere in waves or undulations, it was as if one was holding a mat at one end and flipping it.
Then as if I struck the right chord of my memory coil, it occurred to me that the sphere might as well be a projection of a five dimensional body into the world of four dimensions. The ship was not complete, what I saw was a projection of ship, a gross reduction of actuality.
Now a clank and then with a hissing noise, the door of the space ship opened. As minutes passed by, I watched the unfurling of the episode with great curiosity. But, for a long while, nothing dramatically significant happened apart from the light inside the sphere dissipating. I could not fight the irresistible urge to enter the ship any longer, so I descended the stair case to reach the door, pulled open the door ajar and the door fell onto the floor caressing the ground on one end, while still latched in its position on the other end. The insides of the ship were infinitely superior to any technology I was hitherto exposed to on earth; some consoles had differential equations written on it. A huge screen in the middle of the ship displayed numbers and their equivalents in music compositions written in chord progressions. Perhaps the mode of communication was no longer English, it was perhaps mathematics and music.
A case with words ‘to earth men’ inscribed on it was left in a protective shield encased with a plastic resin of some sort that I never found on earth. I carefully loosened the grips and removed the case from its original locked position. It was closed with a number lock. I looked around and could not find anything, and then I turned the case upside down to reveal in a dent carved in the bottom, a series of numbers. It was a puzzle, I sat down and after few failed attempts, I was able to open the case. The case had a metallic disc in it protected in a plate of viscous fluid. I cleaned the disc off the fluid and made a vain attempt at comprehending the grooved inscriptions on it. Something was bothering me, the thought that the whole episode unfurled as if someone deliberately planned it like this, for I was previously acquainted with the particular number series, otherwise I wondered, if I would have ever deciphered the truly ingenious puzzle. The viscous fluid trap was also easy, for I knew beforehand that the tip of the object should be held up exactly vertical for over two minutes and the fluid slips off the plate all by itself. Without prior knowledge, one would have hurt himself terribly with the fluid’s awfully superior property of eating into human’s skin and bones.
It took a while, but eventually I accepted the unnerving conclusion that the disc was indeed designed by me in 2009. Blenched with fear, I began palpitating incessantly, how long have I been asleep? What is the current year?