Displacement

In the center, high up, eight overseers sit in a circle facing outward atop a makeshift thrown constructed from old typewriter parts. Initially they appear identical but closer inspection reveals them to be not significantly more similar in appearance than any eight arbitrarily selected humans might be expected to be. They have many limbs and many glowing eyes. Perhaps their eyes do not glow but merely reflect a bright light. I am too cautious, for now, to wander close enough to say for sure

Let me explain. Or rather, let me offer a meager attempt at an explanation based on what little I know. I’m not on Earth anymore. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what happened. This is scarcely an explanation at all... let me try to make things a little bit clearer, to what extent I can

Alright. Hours ago or perhaps days, I was going about my business, returning home from work, when I started to hear a strange, hollow, distant wailing sound. I looked around but I couldn’t work out where it was coming from. It almost seemed to be coming from inside my own ears, more than any external source. It grew louder, gradually, and my vision began to blur, and my head swam with disoriented dizziness, and I wanted to scream, almost, and I must have lost consciousness and the next thing I knew I was here, wherever this is, that isn’t Earth, at least I don’t think it is

I’ve wandered around lost in this bizarre landscape for I don’t know how long. The place doesn’t seem to make sense, it’s all recognisable objects or parts of objects but put together in strange configurations. Hills and mountains and buildings made out what I recognise as household items and machines

The sky looks almost like it’s made of fabric, with what I can only assume are holes in it, exposing glimpses of an endless arrays of shifting colours and patterns. Sounds and scents I don’t think I even have language to describe drift through the air, which is always very slightly either too warm or too cold. Sometimes I swear it’s both, somehow

The eight beings looking outward over this area from up there on typewriter-parts throne are the first other living things I’ve seen here. At least, I think they are. I almost want to try to talk to them on the incredibly remote chance we can communicate with each other but I’m cautious. What if they’re dangerous? What if I’m wasting my time?

I haven’t seen anything like food or water here. Gradually the grinding hopelessness of my situation is becoming clear. I’ll die here, I can’t imagine any other possibility

If that’s the case then I don’t suppose I have anything more to lose. I’ll approach them, I’ll call out and whatever response, if any, at least I tried

I walk slowly, carefully but purposefully up the hill, more of a disorganised pile of grandfather clocks, atop which is the throne of typewriter parts. Keys fall it and down the clock-hill as my weight and movement shifts the piled objects around. Strangest thing what details one notices... they’re all vowels

I think I’m close enough now, I can’t read their body language but I vaguely get the feeling they’ve noticed me, though who knows for sure? Well...

“Hello?”