Mollywood
Oliver found himself disappointed by the reception to his first public exhibition. At the end of his animation, “Corals in Flight”, the audience had been polite, but not enthused. Critics wrote little notes on scraps of paper and placed into a box as they shuffled their way out to see other works at the festival.
He was left with a box of feedback, most of them lukewarm or negative. “Interesting use of color” was the most positive. The rest were variations of “too ambitious for a debut” and “lacks a clear story”.
Oliver wasn’t used to this kind of reception. Back in college, and in high school, he had been praised and put on a golden path towards success. He had seen himself as a prodigy.
When he was growing up in the governor’s mansion, everything seemed so simple. His childhood home was a grand, solar-powered mansion surrounded by bioswells which filtered the seawater and teemed with colorful marine life. Elevated monorails zipped past the panoramic windows, putting him in the center of the city’s rich culture that connected the vibrancy of the Caribbean with the city’s towering skyscrapers.
His entire childhood seemed to pulse with new art forms and music. With his privileged connections, he had access to the best schools and mentors. He had always assumed he would quickly rise to the top of the zeitgeist.
But after this stunning setback, he returned to the small loft he rented in the arts district thanks to his family’s financial support. The loft was cluttered with high-tech holopads, 3D printers, and various art supplies. The last frame of his animation was still displayed on a large television hanging on the wall, which now seemed to mock him. He thought it was a perfect representation of his vision that connected humans to the ocean, but the audience had not agreed.
There was a surprising rap at the door that broke him out of his self-pity.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
“It’s me,” came the soft reply. Kris.
She was a fellow artist he had met a few months ago at a gallery opening. Tall, blonde, and always dressed in colorful sundresses. She was a hot topic in the local art world, and even hotter in-person. Still, despite his attraction to her, he didn’t really feel like socializing tonight.
“Please, Oliver. I just want to check on you,” she said.
He sighed and opened the door. “Alright, come in.”
She stood there at the entrance with her dark, expressive eyes assessing him. She was everything he wasn’t: confident, authentic, and carefree. And unlike him, she really did come from nothing. Her own short, about the mangroves, received a standing ovation. He agreed, it had a brilliance that he found impossible to replicate.
“That was rough, Oliver,” she offered politely, though her tone was bordering on a patronizing pity.
“I think it’s just the wrong audience,” he replied defensively. “They don’t understand my vision.”
“It’s not about creating a perfect vision,” she shook her head. “Mollywood is about making a deep connection with someone. You need to see things differently.”
“I guess you agree I have no vision, then,” he snapped, still wallowing.
“No, I mean it literally,” she said, stepping closer. He could smell the faint jasmine wafting from her hair. “You need to see the world differently.”
She reached into her small leather bag and pulled out a small vial. He looked at it closely. It looked like a normal pill, like an Asprin or something, but it seemed to glow faintly with an inner light.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s a catalyst. We call it ‘Myuze’.”
“Is it a drug?”
“It’s a bit more than that,” she said mysteriously. “Imagine if a bird’s tweet sounded more like a rich, harmonizing symphony, where each note had its own color and texture. Ideas would become tangible shapes that you could hold and change. It re-routes your neural pathways to create cross-sensory perception. Your artistic vision changes and expands in areas you couldn’t even imagine.”
“Do you use it?”
“Many of us do,” she replied. “We all benefit from tapping into an infinite well of creativity.”
“I don’t know...” he hesitated. “If I take it, will I still be me?”
“It just helps unlock the creativity that’s already inside of you. You have good ideas. You just need a little help with your perspective.”
Oliver felt his stomach twist. His father would definitely never approve of this. He felt like he was doing something wrong, even dangerous. But his mind was distracted by the smile and hope on Kris’s face. She believed in him at a time when he didn’t believe in himself. There was something alluring about unlocking new parts of his mind and becoming as authentic as her.
“Okay, how much?” he asked with a dry throat.
“I’ll give you this one for free Ollie,” she gave him a genuine smile. “But only if you make something good.”
“I promise.”
“Good then,” she handed him the vial, her fingers brushing his for a moment. “Then welcome to Mollywood.”
The pill tasted metallic and it seemed to sting his tongue as he swallowed it with a splash of sparkling water. Kris was sitting down on his couch, sipping a cup of herbal tea.
“Just relax,” she advised, observing how tense his body was. “Breathe easily and let your brain recalibrate.”
He took a seat at the other end of the couch and wrapped his arms around a pillow. He closed his eyes, waiting for it to happen. He didn’t know what that meant or what to expect.
Then, something flickered.
It wasn’t a light, not exactly. It was like... Well, he could hear the monorail passing by outside, but now he could see it despite his eyes being closed. It was if a large indigo shape passed from right to left across his mind’s eye. He could see Kris’s quiet breathing as a series of gentle silver waves that reminded him of the ocean. His own thoughts seemed to sparkle in rainbow colors, in colors he couldn’t even understand or name.
When he opened his eyes, he found the entire room had changed. It was as if he was seeing everything through a kaleidoscope. The walls seemed to be glowing, as if they were made of some phosphorescent material. The air itself seemed to shimmer with tiny motes of light that danced around him.
Kris asked him something. As she spoke, he could see her words as colorful shapes that jumped around the room in arcs before fading away.
He now understood what she meant about cross-sensory perception.
He turned to the TV, where his animation was still paused. He decided to watch it again. This time, he could understand what the critics had meant. The colors were just alright. There was too much blue and not enough contrast. The story was muddled and the characters were underdeveloped.
As he wondered how to change it, he began to see colors emerge from the screen. The colors of the corals were now flashing lights that pulsed in time with the music. Where had the music come from? He hadn’t been playing any. But now it seemed to fill the room.
“I need to create,” he said, suddenly overtaken with purpose.
“Yes, Ollie. Let it flow through you,” Kris encouraged him.
He headed back to his workbench and started sketching what he was seeing. The colors. The music. Everything that seemed to flow together in a way that seemed so natural even if he could never have imagined it before.
He pulled up his project and forked it. He was now inspired to rework the entire animation from scratch. Hours passed as he worked feverishly, unable to think of anything else. He couldn’t feel hunger, or exhaustion. Every ounce of his being was pulled into the colors and music now flooding his head.
Finally, he leaned back. He could feel the drug’s effect beginning to wear off. The room was no longer shimmering, and the colors were fading away. Still, his animation was complete. He played it back. It was raw and alive, unlike anything he’d ever made before.
He turned towards Kris on the couch and saw she had left. When had she done that? He didn’t even hear her. He felt a bit lonely all of a sudden. She had been his only companion, and he knew that he needed to see her again to get a second dose.
The next week turned into a blur. He barely slept or ate, consumed by the pills that Kris sold to him. He could barely wake up every morning to jog along the waterfront as his mind could still feel the aftershocks of synesthesia. Then he decided on Sunday not to take it. He had dinner with his parents that night and he didn’t want to feel exposed around them.
While his dad was no longer the governor, the family mansion looked even grander than the state-owned one. Their dining room had a large table made from reclaimed driftwood, imported from Spain and crafted by artisans. The cutlery was sterling silver, and the plates were hand-painted porcelain.
“So Oliver, your mother tells me you’re working on something new,” his father began, sipping a glass of vintage wine. “We saw a preview online. Very... colorful.”
Oliver swallowed nervously. He could feel the wine burning in his throat. “Yes father, I’ve been experimenting with some new techniques.”
“It really is impressive,” his mother chimed in, more complimentary. “Though it looks like you haven’t been sleeping much. Are you sure you’re taking care of yourself?”
“I just have had a few creative bursts,” he managed, holding back a yawn. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Speaking of which, I’ve been hearing some troubling rumors,” his father set down his glass. “There are whispers of a new potent substance being passed around in artistic circles. Something that supposedly enhances creativity. Do you know anything about that?”
“What kind of substance, father?” Oliver asked, trying to stay nonchalantly. Underneath the tablecloth, his knees were shaking. He moved his hands away from his plate to keep his legs steady.
“Some kind of pill, I hear it’s called ‘Myuze’,” his tone turned serious. “Several people have wound up in the hospital after taking it because it caused severe neurological side effects. They have developed debilitating dependencies, and some have even suffered permanent brain damage. Frankly, this seems like an even more dangerous psychedelic than the ones of my youth.”
“I... I don’t know anything about that, father,” Oliver lied, trying to keep his voice steady.
“I know you wouldn’t. I’ve been speaking with the current administration. I think there’s going to be a comprehensive crackdown on this stuff soon. We need to balance freedom with the common good and public safety.”
The word “crackdown” sent a chill down Oliver’s spine. He had no intention of giving up the pills. His father’s stance was now a direct threat to his creative process. He felt trapped in the walls of the mansion. He wanted to scream and run away, but the words were stuck in his throat.
“I do hope they catch whoever is distributing that stuff,” his mom added, now concerned. She looked over at Oliver and he could feel her gaze penetrating him. “You seem a little flushed, dear. Are you feeling alright?”
“Just a long day,” Oliver forced a smile. “Maybe I need to head home soon and get some rest.”
The lie felt heavy on his tongue. He didn’t want to lie to his parents, but he knew they could never know the truth. It was a secret he had to keep between himself and Kris.
The summer solstice coincided with the Mollywood Awards Gala. The venue was a repurposed vertical farm that was now a stunning event space. Towering walls of green plants snaked up the walls and there was a large waterfall that cascaded over an assortment of lights and holographic displays. Even if Oliver hadn’t taken Myuze that day, he could’ve felt the energy in the air.
He sat at a prominent table near the front, nervously sipping a glass of champagne between his parents. They didn’t know he was under the influence of the drug, and it was hard for him to pretend that he wasn’t seeing vivid sensations everywhere he looked.
His latest animation, submitted to the committee for consideration, was “Hydraulic Rainbow” which explored the concept of Miami as an underwater paradise with mermaids and dancing corals. The city parks were now breathing lungs. The streets were now pulsing veins of colorful light. It was a bold vision, and people who saw it all came away impressed.
“...And the winner for Best Debut Animation is... Oliver Barron for ‘Hydraulic Rainbow’!” the announcer’s voice boomed through the hall.
Thunderous applause erupted, catching Oliver off-guard. His parents had already risen to their feet.
“Go on, Ollie,” Kris urged.
Oliver stepped forward as his heart pounded, which in turn caused a kaleidoscope of colors to burst forth in his vision. There were so many colors he couldn’t even see his feet. He struggled to make it to the stage, and then climb up the three steps to the podium.
“Thank you,” he began, holding the microphone tightly in his grip. He looked out at the crowd, expecting to see smiling faces. Instead, the pill was causing them to look like grotesque creatures with razor-sharp teeth. He quickly averted his gaze and felt a wave of nausea.
“This is an honor,” he continued, trying to keep his eyes down. “My animation was an attempt to explore how we are all interconnected in our great city, humans and nature alike...” he paused to search for the right words. “This is just the start of my artistic vision. I want to thank my mentor Kris, and my family. This award means so much to me and all the upstart artists in Mollywood trying to create true art unburdened by limitations.”
He quickly stepped down from the stage. The trophy he had been handed felt heavy and biting cold, like a chunk of ice. He just wanted to get back to his seat as fast as he could. However, each step now felt more difficult. The floor seemed to be rippling like water, and his legs dragged across the carpet like they were out of sync with his head.
As he reached the table, he placed the trophy down and slumped into his chair. He quickly started to rub his hands together to warm them up, though they still felt numb. His parents looked at him with pride, smiling as a photographer passed by.
“I’m so proud of you,” his mother whispered.
“You really earned this,” his father added.
“Thank you,” he mumbled in response, struggling to catch his breath. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
“Ollie, can I steal you for a moment?” Kris asked, standing up.
“I don’t know, Kris,” he replied, still trying to keep the room from spinning.
“Go ahead with your friend,” his mother encouraged. “I’ll keep your father company.”
Feeling pressure from everyone, he stood up and followed Kris out of the room.
Once out in the atrium, he took a deep breath of air. He could feel the mist from the waterfall cooling his face. Although the colors were still swirling, at least he was away from the grotesque faces of the crowd.
“Congratulations, Ollie. You really deserved it,” Kris said, beaming.
“I... I feel strange,” he admitted, feeling his body begin to list to the side.
“Ollie?” she asked, concerned.
He couldn’t answer her. His mouth went dry and his vision grew blurry and dark. He saw her reaching to grab him as he collapsed into the water.