[The Game] Construction Time Again

Chapter 2

"Play the game for more than you can afford to lose. Only then will you learn the game."
- Winston Churchill

Press Play.

March 1984

Ask most eight-year olds what they'd rather do with their time and the option to sit in a car listening to the same cassette, on repeat, for five days would probably not rank very highly. But it did for Michael. On a holiday in the north of Ireland with his mother, there wasn't much by way of distraction or entertainment for an imaginative child to find. The small Donegal village they were staying in had a sleepy feel to it - a port town which had lost most of its trade in the 19th century. Its docks sat mostly unused, a rusting fishing boat beached against the riverbank, the tidal motions lapping at its punctured hull. Sure, there were plenty of woods and rivers to explore around the area, but Michael found himself whiling away the hours in his mother's parked car, playing the same tape over and over. 'Construction Time Again' by Depeche Mode. The house they were staying in had no TV, no radio. Books offered scant relief. The car had become a refuge, a place to get lost in something, to while away the few days remaining until he could get back to Dublin to his friends and his street.

He'd found the tape in his mother's house, lying unclamied on the mantelpiece in the front room and through some curiosity he couldn't quite explain loaded it up on to the tape deck. He preferred playing albums on vinyl, but made an exception in this case. Perhaps it was the cover of the tape. Perhaps it was the weird name of the band. Either way, it was different than anything he'd ever heard before: clipped, minimal electronic rhythms with oddly affecting melodies. He didn't know why he'd never heard music like this before. He didn't know why all music didn't sound like this - brilliant, pulse-raising, inventive. Just cool. 'Cool'. It was a new word in his vocabulary, heard in the schoolyard, in between discussions of Return of the Jedi and swopping Panini football stickers. He wasn't entirely sure what it actually meant, but he was pretty sure that Depeche Mode were cool. They sounded like they were cool anyway. Two minute warning. Shame. Love in itself. He'd never heard songs like this - not the music, not the words. Nothing.

He'd never really listened to the words of songs before. He didn't know why he hadn't but now couldn't understand why you wouldn't. There was something about the rhythm of the lyrics, the way they moved through the music, shimmering and shouting in equal measure, telling you how the world worked, hinting at something bigger. Hinting at something else beyond just the sound and words. Something that he could almost see when he closed his eyes. An urgency or a fear, squirming beneath the basslines. The simple magic of sound and voice.

After a day or two of listening, over and over, immersing himself in the soundscape, he could close his eyes and let the music twist what he saw. Shapes shifting. Colours moving in circles. Percussion tracks made from pipes and metal, sparking streaks of light across the inside of his head. Michael breathed deeply. And sang. We're lying by the orange sky. Two million miles across the land. Scattered to the highest high. Expect they'll either laugh or cry. No sex, no consequence, no sympathy. You're good enough to heat.

He allowed the music to do what it did. Allowed it to suggest images, moods. Pictures swam in and out of view. Play. Rewind and play. Over and over. He listened. Listened to Gahan's voice bellowing out the words. Listened to the backing vocals. The percussion. The voice that he sometimes thought he could hear at the edge of the song. A voice that could drift in and out of focus. Sometimes clear. Sometimes muted. It was a woman's voice. Older than him. Much older. Perhaps a woman in her thirties? He could hear the rain starting outside the car, the drops hitting the windscreen. He saw a room. Dark, red and black shapes and sounds. It was busy, people moving, laughing, holding glasses and chatting. The clothes looked wrong. Like they didn't belong. Like they were from another time. The music blared from speakers on the wall. Two minute warning. Two minutes later. When time has come. My days are numbered.

The people's faces became clearer. Their haircuts, their eyes. The weird looking clothes, all of it came into view. Sharper than sharp, it became frighteningly real. The dawning of another year. Marks time for those who understand. One in four still here. While you and I go hand in hand. No radio, no sound, no sin, no sanctuary. So welcome to your last.

What was this? How was he doing this? Was he doing this? He saw a shape. A circle. Sliced in half with a curve. Two shapes. Two fish. Joined with a string. Spinning and looping, they followed each other in space. Don't open your eyes, a voice said. A voice that he knew. A voice that made instant sense, telling him he was safe. A voice like home. You're doing fine, she said. Don't be afraid. He breathed, scanned the room, moved through it in his head, probing, pushing, looking for the owner of the voice. People jostled, their bodies moving to the music, bumped him and pushed him. Then he saw her. Black hat. A smile, spreading across a beautiful face. Blue eyes. A slight scar just showing on her forhead. She looked about twenty years old. About forty years old. About ten years old. She winked. I can't wait for us to happen, she said.

'Michael? Michael? Can you hear me?' his mother asked. He opened his eyes. His mother was standing with the car door open, a puzzled grin on her face. 'You feckin eejit! You were miles away!'
'Sorry' he said quietly, 'I was just listening to me tape'.
'Wanna come in for some dinner or we have to bring the car stereo with us?'
'I'll be in now. Two minutes' he said.

'So' said the man, leaning back in his chair again, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, 'that's very interesting'
'Interesting?' How is that interesting? It makes me sound like I should be locked away, right? People who behave like that get locked away, right?'
'Well, some people do, yes. When they're violent for example. But not everyone like that does. Some people learn to control it. Use it.'
'Use it?'
'Yes, use it. Make it do things. See things. Learn things. Meet people - people that are hard to meet in real life'
'Huh?'
'Tell me Michael, what did you think of what the girl said to you?'
'I don't know. I didn't think about it too much'
'Nonsense. You've been thinking of her ever since, haven't you? The girl that appears in your dreams. The one you've been dismissing as a figment of your imagination. Michael, do you remember how you got here today?'
Michael paused again, his mouth wide open. 'No, no I don't'
'Hmm. Seems there are some gaps in your head. As though even talking about this is shorting your short-term memory. You've been infected with a powerful virus.'
'Virus? What? What virus?'
'A language virus. Relax, it'll make sense in time. The main thing is, you're with friends here...'
'Here?' Where am I?'
'Relax. There's nothing to worry about. There are just some gaps. I'm here to help you fill them in. If you'll let me that is.'
'Am I going mad?'
'Mad?' laughed the man. 'Good Lord no. Not at all.'
'But it isn't normal, what's been happening to me'
'You're right there. It's not normal. But you're not the only one.'
Michael paused. 'I'm not?'
'Nope' said the man with a sigh and a smirk. 'You're not alone at all. And I don't mean that in the simple sense of the expression.'
'I don't understand' Michael said.
'Well, having just listened to what you've said, having seen the things that I've seen over the years, knowing what I know about who you really are, well, I'm now pretty sure of something'
'What?'
'There are two of you'

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