The Rise of Brighteye Brison (the music group)

It was on a Sunday morning. As usual we ate breakfast together. Kristofer had his fried eggs, Johan his salami sandwiches, Daniel his omelette, Per a plate of freshly home baked buns and I had my chocolate bars. Although, looking out the window, it was a fairly misty morning everything spoke in favour of a splendid day.
Kris sat down on a wooden chair and showed us some chords to a new song he wrote the week before on a six string acoustic. We instantly felt that we had to rehearse this so we moved into the studio and played for a couple of hours.
“Now let’s go for a walk”, Daniel suggested happily.
“Yes, what a splendid idea”, Kristofer cried out in astonishment. “I’ve heard that the robins start to sing a different song this time of year. Maybe we’ll even get to see old farmer Bob harvest the last crops of the season.”
We began strolling down the country roads in childish excitement about the changing colours of leaves and the quiet whisper of the wind. After a short while Johan started to look a bit worried. Noticing our concerning eyes he explained that he found it odd how the glimmering rays of the sun never seemed to break through the constantly darkening clouds filling the sky. We all had to agree.
“Yes! Let’s turn back”, I said unaware about the suspicious tone of my voice (Kris told me about this later).
We sped even faster as the world around us turned darker, finally almost running. Then just before the bend of a dusty path Kristofer fell headlong onto the ground. We turned our heads around in panic and fear for Kris’s health and wellbeing.
“Nothing to worry ´bout, guys! I’m OK! Nevertheless I don’t know about HIM IN FRONT OF YOU!”
We looked the other way again, now even more panicked.
“Ahh… F-f-farmer Bob”, Johan mumbled. “A-a-aren’t you?”
“I do not know about this “farmer” of which you are speaking… But I suspect you are referring to some kind of earthly profession”.
The words came from the blurred silhouette standing approximately fifteen feet away from us. Its shape became clearer as it uttered another sentence:
“My name is Rhaal-Uma-Rhog-Zzenzi which in your language means “Brighteye”.
In saying this his face appeared under a black cloak and bolts of lightning ejected from its eyes, hitting a large oak tree which immediately vaporized.
“No! Please don’t kill us”, we shouted in unison.
“We are just musicians”, Kristofer added weakly. Brighteye raised an eyebrow.
“Musician? That’s one profession I DO know. I don’t like it!”
“Well… It’s pretty tough to make a living on music these days”, I tried. “In fact I’m a salesman of something called wooden slippers!”
Brighteye stood quiet for the longest of seconds and began to speak again, but his voice failed him so he had to clear his throat. Then he said:
“OK! I’ll get to the point now.  My main, not to say ONLY, objective is to blow you all to kingdom come for personal reasons I just can’t get into at the moment. I’ve done this for years so you wouldn’t be the first ones and as you understand you would not feel a thing thanks to my experience. By now you should already be quite relieved. Now here’s another treat.” He paused. We prayed.
“I must admit that during the time we’ve had this conversation I’ve started to like you. This is a rarely occurring situation, I must say. I feel a certain connection… Bonding you might call it, meaning I will spare you your pitiful lives.”
We pondered.
“Just like that?” Johan replied without any hesitation. “There just has to be a hook, right?”
Daniel patted Johan’s left shoulder, trying to cool him down but Brighteye just smiled with a fatherly look on his face.
“I notice your anguish and in many ways I can relate to it. The eyes of you humans tell many stories and I can read them like an open book. Looking at me you see a creature of hostility, an intruder to your otherwise fairly grey and trouble free existences, a highly unwelcome addition to the loyal environment that surrounds you, the society not created but improved by you in preparation for your children so that they can meet the tests of future times just like your fathers before you and their fathers before them. A never ending circle and most basic pattern of nature this legacy of generations is.”
Brighteye inhaled and blinked calmly, preparing himself for a speech of ancient universal knowledge. Again he spoke, now in a composed voice:
“I’m most familiar with the torments you endure on your planet. I too possess feelings of happiness, sadness, love and awe, not only because where I come from is a place of natural understanding, better yet we were once a harmonic community of astral and inner peace. Our fields of brightest lustre spread like a cover from the top of the highest mountain to the bottom of the deepest valley. The craftsmanship of our common efforts would turn potential misery into never-ending magic. Passionate treatment of grapes caused the greatest brew to quench our thirst, careful handling of food kept our reputation of intergalactic gastronomy blooming. Well… I guess you get the point. Everything was great!”
“So where did it all go wrong?” Kris wondered.
Brighteye laughed.
“Sorry. I just can’t help myself. You’re race is a very amusing one… So predictable. There are always two sides to a coin, you believe. Well, you’re sure right about that.”
Seriousness filled the air and for a moment he was brief.
“I’m going to tell you a story, a story I only tell right before I kill someone. Today’s the day for an exception. You see…”
Instantly we were transported to a pitch-black vacuum. Successively elastic patterns of white and light green appeared and a very clear sense of floating accentuated the sudden thrill which only seemed to last. In this once-in-a-life-time state of solid quietness we could hear one thing alone; the voice of Brighteye.
“I worked for a local newspaper. For years I inspected and wrote about the neutron transformers of Olchkz Sector 7 foreseeing their use as engine reflectors in various crafts of the Starfleet. This major breakthrough was revealed on my thirty-fifth birthday in a fairly hard detected article, somewhere between “missing pets” and a garden tools advertisement, in issue no: 4051. The next day I got a call from the authorities telling me that they actually tried to connect a highly compressed Python-processor to the third substring of a Peacock-exterminator, then reversing the retro-accumulation through the surface of its exterior preventing the back draft, which had been such a problem for ages, to burn the guy holding the gearlever. ´Your article’s a masterpiece´, they told me. ´You’re a genius´, even. Well, needless to say I started working for them. I never quit my job at the newspaper though”.
“I see”, I said, faking that I’d been listening to every word. I succeeded.
“Yes. So now I was the captain of ´Brison´, the most advanced space vessel in the galaxy, awing the very echelons of technology, the most impressing ship in designers’ history, the lady of my childhood dreams. I cruised on the endless seas of space, drank coffee, wrote articles, encountered a few malfunctions and forgot about myself”.
“Forgot about yourself?” I asked.
“I loved it up there. Decades seemed like minutes. Suddenly I was old. Locked away for such a long time without a woman’s affection is enough to drive a man insane, you know.”
We knew absolutely nothing about that.
“So I turned to crime. With the reflector system that I’ve developed it is easy to demolish any thing of any size. For a while my favourite targets to destroy were rather large galaxies, but I got bored. Instead I became fond of chicken farming. My writing skills seemed to be the perfect domain for my fanzine, “Chicken Galore”, which became the tool to my quest for universal fame. I started a journalist university making it fairly easy for me to recruit a marvellous staff. Things only got better. My research centre on deck 3 came in first place in The Academy of Neglected Life forms annual poll for eleven years in a row.”
Consideration vaguely entered my mind. Still it was far from enough to really make any fuss about it. Anyway I presumed that Brighteye had read my thoughts already.
“I have read your mind already,” he said. “Please confide in me for by these words the spirits of the ancients rest.”
He began a new speech of doom.
“The script was written even before the endless wisdom of Brighteye Brison began to evolve. On his deathbed my father uttered something I then could not grasp, making me unsure of my calling. I find the circle is finally closed. The day when the one question will find its answer has come. Yes, I know this time was meant to be.”
The image of a proud man faded away rather rapidly and the shades of our temporary condition withered, slowly revealing the contours of the real world like a blindfold was taken from our eyes.
“I go now for the continuum of fulfilment is calling me. But know this before I’m gone: Everything will be in order. The quest is now upon you!”
And so he was no more.
   

sincerely
Linus Kåse, member of Brighteye Brison (the music group)