The Seven Habits

by William Todd Rose

  Even now, the simple act of lying on her back caused her spine to feel like the concrete had somehow managed to strip away the layers of tissue beneath her filthy smock. Small pebbles were like knives plunged between vertebrae and the sun overhead jabbed her eyes with cruel claws. She had to remain as motionless as the chunks of concrete surrounding her, no matter how bad the torture became.

  Her jaw hung open and the air just above her was thick with the buzzing of flies. They darted about erratically, swooping and swerving and changing directions without rhyme or reason. Only her green eyes tracked their movements, watching this troupe of aerial dancers with what she hoped to be the most minimal of movements.

  Within seconds, Ocean felt one crawling across her upper lip. It’s tiny legs tickled and her arms tensed as she fought the urge to reach up and flick it away. Even that undercurrent of movement caused the insect to take to the air however, and it rejoined the dark cloud that swarmed around her head. Inside, she felt like crying as frustration squeezed her in its vise-like grip, but as her mother had so often reminded her, tears were nothing more than a waste of water. Instead, she took a breath though her nose so slowly that her chest didn’t seem to rise at all.

  Gotta stay calm…

  Soon, the fly—or one just like it—returned. It crept across her face, the movement feeling like the tip of a feather faintly brushing against her cheek, making the corners of her mouth want to twitch. This time Ocean was able to subdue her instincts; she remained perfectly still and allowed the small creature to explore her face with its hairy appendages.

  Just a little further…

  The tickling sensation moved from her lips and become muted as the insect crawled across her tongue. Ocean snapped her jaw shut and the fly responded with panic. It buzzed through the inside of her mouth, ricocheting off the soft lining of her cheeks and brushing the ridges just behind her teeth with its wings. She swallowed hard, ignoring the little vibration in the back of her throat as the struggling insect was carried down into her gullet. Then all the little movements disappeared and Ocean opened her mouth again, resetting the trap for the next unsuspecting victim.

  Seven flies later, Ocean began to smell them: that putrid reek that seemed to seep through the molecules of the air like a spreading cancer. The stench blossomed slowly; at first it was only enough to make wrinkle her nose as if her nostrils were trying to close up with an instinctive reaction. Shortly after, she realized that she had begun breathing exclusively through her mouth in an effort to further shield herself from the invading odor. Experience had taught her that before long the smell would be so thick and rancid that it would flood her mouth with its greasy, thick pungency. The stink would taint what little saliva still moistened her throat and would rise like waves of putrid gas, leeching into her sinus passages as if the smell were actually emanating from somewhere deep within her own body.

  And by then it would be too late. There would be nowhere left to run and the suffocating smell would wrap around her like a moldy funeral shroud.

  It was definitely time to move on.

  She sat up slowly, dispersing the nebula of flies into a scattered throng of dark specks. Peering above the slab of concrete closest to her, she saw a street with clumps of grass sprouting through the cracks in the pavement. Shards of wood and chunks of brick littered the ground amid glass that sparkled in the sun where a telephone pole had snapped in half and crushed the remains of a car that had been skeletonized by fire so long ago that no trace of ash remained. There was no sign of movement out there in the wastelands… not yet.

  Ocean scrambled to her feet and, for a second, the world around her swooned. She closed her eyes, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as her hand clutched the jagged edge of the concrete. This had been happening more and more often lately. When she moved, it would sometimes seem as if it took reality a few seconds to catch up with her and during that time, she seemed to float and drift like her soul had become untethered from her body.

  In addition to this, she had come to suspect that she wasn’t alone in her own head. Sometimes it felt as though there were someone else in there, someone who looked out through her eyes and saw the world as if from a great distance. She suspected that this other presence was what caused the lag in her perception of time. In those few brief seconds, she felt her experiences overlapping with those of the intruder’s and all the sensations of life were filtering through two observations.

  Of course in the same light, Ocean also suspected sometimes that she wasn’t real, that she was nothing more than the leading character in someone’s dream. If she only managed to stay alive long enough, the dreamer would eventually awaken and free her from the torment of life. It wouldn’t be like dying. She would simply wink out of existence with no pain or regrets or remorse.

  Until that happened, however, she had to keep her ass alive. Which meant she needed to get moving… and now.

  Ocean zigzagged through the wreckage of a society she’d never known in a slight crouch, staying low and moving as quickly as her weakened system would allow. Every few minutes, she’d duck behind the crumbled remains of a building or some formless hulk of metal. She’d remain as still as her surroundings, listening for the slightest sound with her head cocked to the side, sniffing the air like an animal. The stench was still present but not as thick… which meant she was heading in the right direction. How many screams had she heard because people who thought they were heading to safety were actually delivering themselves into the clawing hands of death? Too many to count, and she was determined not to be one of them.

  Ocean picked her way through burnt-out buildings and dilapidated walls, through labyrinths of girders and old billboards that had crashed to the ground. The smell got fainter and fainter until there was nothing more than the reek of her own body wafting up to assault her nose. In time, she came to a tangle of vehicles that blocked the road ahead. The rusted, metal frames looked as if the cars and trucks had been fused into one another; bumpers ensnarled with fenders, hoods crumpled into fractured engine blocks, a myriad of spiderweb cracks like ghosts on dust covered windshields.

  Squeezing into the gap between a dented, partially open door and the side of an ambulance, Ocean squirmed across the backseat of a car, taking care that the springs poking through the tufts of stuffing didn’t rake across her skin. After baking in the sun all day, the interior of the vehicle was so hot that condensation had begun beading up on the windows and she took a moment to lick them clean; she could taste the grime from the glass coating her mouth in an oily sheen… but the liquid also soothed the sandpaper-like feeling on her tongue and, for the time being at least, relieved her gums from the pressure that made it feel as if they were attempting to squeeze her yellowed teeth right out of her head.

  After slaking her thirst, she continued crawling through the maze of automobiles until she came to a car that had withstood the ravages of time relatively well. What looked to be a mound of filthy rags, were actually clothes, piled into the floorboard and a threadbare sheet was rumpled across the backseat. In the space between the seats and the rear window, a collection of small figurines had been lined up. They were all glass and almost exclusively animals: rabbits with severed ears, gouged dolphins caught in mid-leap, even a bear whose head was precariously balanced on its shattered neck. Ocean looked at them and smiled, as always.

  This was her room and had been for as long as she could remember. Her father used to bring the little animals back when he’d go foraging for food and supplies and she could remember tugging at the hems of his pants, bouncing from one foot to the other, as he playfully kept the newest addition just out of reach. He’d been a good man, her father. He’d tell her stories about the way the world used to be as he tucked her in for the night, and would sing what he called one hit wonders and blasts from the past softly while puttering about their shelter.

  She missed him. Sometimes so badly that it felt as though something were deep inside her, eating away all the
things that made life worth living. But at least she still had Mama; even if the older woman had become more cold and distant and mean, she wasn’t entirely alone… and that somehow helped.

  Ocean squirmed out the other side of her room and practically fell into a circular clearing formed in the very center of all those wrecked vehicles. A tarp had been strung overhead as long as she could remember, forming a ceiling of sorts, and the setting sun filtered through the canvas, tinting everything under it with a bluish glow.

  Ocean’s mother was crouched on the far side of the clearing with her back to the girl, and her head snapped around when she heard her daughter enter.

  “I’m home, Mama.”

  Her mother glared at her through eyes that looked like they had receded into her skull. The older woman’s face was sharp and angular, the frown which pulled at the corners of her mouth only made those features even more defined. She said nothing, but pulled her hands tightly to her chest and angled her body even further away from the young girl.

  “There’s some rotters somewhere over by the… what’s that?”

  Her mother crouched lower, anger sparking within her eyes.

  “Nothing,” she snapped. “Go to your room, you fuckin’ bastard.”

  Ocean stepped to the side of the clearing and her mother quickly shuffled away, shielding whatever it was she clutched against her chest from her daughter’s view. Ocean craned her neck and felt curiosity warm her chest and neck.

  “What is it? Is it something of Daddy’s? Did you—”

  “I said it’s nothing!” The older woman was trembling now and she snarled at her daughter like one of the wolves that sometimes prowled through the city. Strands of spittle dangled from the few teeth remaining in her mouth and her nostrils flared wide.

  “Go the fuck away, Ocean!”

  The words and tone stung Ocean as if her mother had physically slapped her across the face. At the same time, her own brow furrowed and her body tensed; she bit her lip to keep from snapping back at her mother, but her hands balled into her fists by her side. Now, it was a matter of principle… When she felt as if she could speak calmly again, her words came out in clipped, short busts.

  “You got something. What is it, Mama? What are you hiding?” Ocean continued circling around the wall of twisted metal surrounding her, stooping slightly so her head wouldn’t brush against the tarp.

  “I said go the fuck away, you nosy little cunt! Mind your own damn business!”

  Her mother had turned and looked as if she were seconds from pouncing. Clutched to her chest was a brown, furry body with small, dark eyes and a hairless tail tapered to a point. Her mother was now shaking so violently that tremors passed through the animal’s limp body as if it were actually still alive.

  “You’ve got a rat! Where did you get a rat?”

  “It’s mine, you understand? It’s fuckin’ mine.”

  Her mother’s face had twisted into a gnarled mask of rage with wide eyes and small pupils. She squeezed her prize so tightly that it’s body seemed to balloon out on either side of her grip.

  “Go find your own, you little brat!”

  Ocean’s stomach rumbled and she found that she couldn’t take her eyes away from the creature. She studied its coarse, short hairs; the single droplet of blood congealed on wiry whiskers… the rounded ears and little black feet.

  “There’s… there’s enough for both of us right? I’ll trade you something… anything. Tell me what you want.” Ocean’s mouth flooded with metallic-tasting saliva and she constantly ran her tongue over her lips as her voice quivered. “Tell me and it’s yours. Just a bite. Just a taste. Please, Mama? Just a little… “

  “Fucking die! I want you to fucking die and leave me the Hell alone! It’s mine!”

  The words stopped Ocean in her tracks as effectively as if she’d walked into an invisible wall. Her mouth hung open and tears welled within her eyes as she struggled to find words.

  “It’s mine, mine, mine!”

  Even though she felt as if everything within her had suddenly shriveled and died, Ocean still found herself unable to pull her gaze away from the dead rat. It shimmered through the tears that began to trickle from the corner of her eyes, and she swallowed painfully.

  “Mama… “

  “Fuck you!” The woman wrenched a piece of metal from the grill of a car and held it before her like a sword as she rose to her full height. With her other hand, she held the rat by its tail and dangled it slightly behind her body, shielding it like she would a small child from a predator. “It’s… fucking… mine!”

  Spittle flew from her mouth with each word and her lips had pulled back into a sneer. Every muscle in her body looked tense, bulging against her thin skin as if trying to break free.

  “Mama… I…”

  Ocean watched as the rat plummeted toward the ground and for a moment struggled to make sense of what was happening. Why would Mama just drop it? Was she leaving it for her, maybe? Was she…

  Ocean became aware of an inhuman, guttural scream only seconds before her mother’s body crashed into her own, and then she was tumbling backward, the base of her skull thudding against the concrete with enough force to make her jaw snap closed painfully.

  The older woman scrambled over Ocean’s small body, scratching bloody furrows into her shoulders and neck, screaming so loudly that her shrill voice caused a quiver in her daughter’s eardrums.

  “Mine, mine, mine, mine!”

  She was throwing punches now, driving her fist repeatedly into Ocean’s nose and mouth with flat, wet smacks. Ocean squirmed below her, writhing and twisting like a headless snake, trying to buck her mother from her body. The other woman had her pinned squarely, her knees pressed painfully into Ocean’s collarbones.

  “Mine! Mine!”

  Her mama gripped the jagged length of metal in both hands and raised it above Ocean’s throat.

  “You can’t have any, you greedy little bitch! It’s mine! Just fucking die, you ungrateful whore! Fucking die! Die! Die!”

  Her arms trembled, and Ocean grew perfectly still, eyes focused on the sharp edges of the metal. She tried to say something, to say anything that would keep the weapon from being plunged into her neck… all that came out was a choked sob that gurgled deep within her throat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Now that’s a damn good question.

  If everything I say is true, then what makes me so flippin’ special? How come the Eye of Aeons doesn’t open for just any Joe Schmoe walkin’ down the street? I’ve got to confess man, that’s something I’ve invested a lot of hours in. You know how many nights I’ve spent, tossing and turning, as I’ve tried to figure out the answer to that very question? Shit, there was a time when I was getting two, maybe three, hours of sleep a night. Tops.

  The best I can figure, it’s because I’ve done drugs, man. A lot of drugs. Sticky purple pellets of opium all wrapped up in foil pockets that you can fashion into a little pipe if you’re hard up, hydroponic reefer so fine you can see all these crystals clinging to the bud like it’d been flash frozen or some shit, pills of every imaginable shape and color… fuck, it was like a pharmacological rainbow jumped straight down my throat. And acid, man. Lots and lots of blotter dissolved on this tongue of mine, believe you me. I’d shotgun down the OJ, cause vitamin C really kicks that shit into overdrive and all these doors I never even knew where there started flyin’ open in my mind. Fact is, I was high so frickin’ much that sobriety was my altered state, man.

  Don’t get the wrong impression, though. I wasn’t just another sorry-ass son of a bitch searching for a way to escape the mess his life had become. I wasn’t some doped up loser just lookin’ for the next fix. Fuck that shit, man. I had goals. I had plans. All those drugs were just an end to a means, if ya can dig that.

  See, I used to live with this cat by the name of Johnny Necessary. Swear to God, that was the dude’s real name. Look it up, if you want, he’ll be in that there computer of yours. Picked up
on possession about three, four years back. Tall guy, shaven head, goatee. Got this excited little quirk to his eyes that makes it look like he’s always going through REM, even when wide awake. Makes some people nervous ‘cause they feel like there’s always something going on in that mind of his, that he’s constantly sizing things up and forming schemes that don’t involve them. Never bothered me much, though.

  Me and Johnny, see, were what you might call like-minded individuals…. No, I don’t fuckin’ mean enablers, man. Enablers are for people with problems, people who’ve got a monkey shittin’ down their backs and whisperin’ in their ear. We weren’t like that. We were fuckin’ pioneers, man. Visionaries, even. The Wright Brothers of Instant Zen, you might say.

  See, me and ‘ole Johnny weren’t just recreational users, man. We had this wild idea that you could totally destroy the ego. Just wipe it all away like a faulty equation on a chalkboard. And when you’re staring at a blank slate, everything is possible. You can fill that space with anything… anything, man. You can have you everything you ever wanted but were too afraid to ask for. All you gotta do is start fresh. Just like a newborn baby, but one who has a lifetime of experience waiting to shape his personality and mind.

  Don’t look at me like that, man, it happens all the time. You just don’t realize it. When you were giving me that cigarette earlier, I noticed the Semper Fi tat on your forearm. So you should know what I’m talkin’ about. Why the hell do you think they give you cats such a hard time in basic? They’re breaking you down, man, crushin’ your ego beneath the heel of a combat boot that just keeps comin’ down again and again and again. They even shave your heads, try to make you look as much like one another as humanly possible, strippin’ your individuality like ethanol on shellac.