by Gareth Wiles
‘This is ridiculous,’ Alex said to himself in the bathroom, keeping his eyes from the mirror. ‘Why oh why am I in this whole fucking mess?’ Now he looked in the mirror. ‘Come on then, where are you?’ he called out for Reaping Icon. ‘Show me, you bastard, let me see what I want to see.’
‘What do you want to see?’ Reaping Icon asked him, appearing in the bathroom.
‘I don’t know. Do you?’
‘Do you want to see Emma?’
‘I can see her any time.’
‘Am I not being honest with myself?’ Reaping Icon looked behind Alex in the mirror. Alex would not turn to look – he could not see anyone there in the mirror. ‘The Space, perhaps?’
‘What?’
‘Do you want to see The Space?’
‘What good will that do?’
‘The world of good.’ Reaping Icon smiled warmly.
‘What is The Space?’
‘It is the summation of everything that ever was, is or will be. And, everything is nothing.’
‘Everything is nothing? That doesn’t make sense,’ Alex laughed.
‘I can grant you access to The Space, Alex,’ Reaping Icon went on, his smile gone. ‘You can do whatever you so wish. Nothing will be beyond your desire.’
‘And nothing is everything, I suppose?’ Alex asked glibly, though with a hint of nerves. He had, nonetheless, eased in Reaping Icon’s company.
‘Tread carefully, for there is nobody who can stop me doing as I wish.’
‘Then why bother me, why am I significant?’
‘Because you are me, and I am you.’ After this, Reaping Icon went again, and Alex collapsed onto the toilet in a fit of hopelessness.
This Reaping Icon – this mirage of a man who flitted in and out of his vision whenever he so chose to – had not figured heavily in Alex’s mind up until now. But, here in the bathroom whilst his wife had sex with someone else in the other room, he found himself at the end of his tether and finally willing to embrace his own desires for a change. He’d always been a bit weak in the mind, allowing himself to get carried along, and now he could see that. Reaping Icon could change all that, for sure! Or, was it just another case of weak-mindedness? At this moment in time he didn’t care if it was weak or not, he simply wanted change; and change he would get if he embraced Reaping Icon. Change for the hell of it.
* * *
Christmas was always a tricky time in the Edwards household. Ruby didn’t like the fact that she had to do all the work. She had to do all the work around here anyway, really, whether it was Christmas or not. Her husband Arthur, completely bald and fat now that he quickly passed sixty, had long said things would change around the place. But, they never changed for long. The only thing that was in constant change was the distance he had to sit from the table – his ever-enlarging stomach pushing him further and further away as it pressed up against it. Every argument that occurred between the couple would result in a bit of change on Arthur’s part, for a bit, and then things would soon change back; flopping into their previous position like a river whose course people had tried to tinker with. Would that river heed to the thirsty demands of humanity? Would it hell. So, Arthur was that unending river, bursting his banks now and again when he was overcome with too much drink but forever going in the same direction. The grave was his only option, but he was taking his time getting there. Ruby slapped the turkey she’d just lovingly carved down on the table in front of her husband and dragged her sweaty, freckled hands through her thinning grey-ginger curls in despair as Arthur eyed its glaze, yawning. He grabbed some with his grubby fingers and dropped it on his plate, tossing a pile onto Alex’s plate as well. Alex looked at Arthur’s hands – mucky from playing around with the log burner and now oily from the turkey – then at the unused meat fork sitting next to the turkey. Alex didn’t like Arthur. He didn’t like Ruby either. At this moment in time, as he sat down for the annual Edwards Christmas dinner with a massive pile of meat and two veg slopped in front of him, he didn’t like anyone. Arthur blew a party whistle right in Alex’s face, who gritted his teeth as he stared at Katie – the only one around the table who wasn’t wearing a paper hat. Alex felt like tearing his off and ramming it down somebody’s throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so… he couldn’t find the will to do it. His whole body tensed and spasmed as he bared the howls and cackles from Arthur the clown next to him. On the other side sat Uncle Curly, Arthur’s brother, who’d been drunk since well before lunch. He, his eyes more glazed than any turkey could ever hope to be, simply alternated between giggling to himself and sighing as he avoided engaging with the rest of the family. He wore his Christmas hat over his ever-fixed tweed flat cap, which hadn’t been removed from his head in at least thirty years. He was, like Arthur, once a thin man but now beer-bellied and round-shouldered. Everybody had forgotten who the elder brother was, but it didn’t really matter. They were close in age and similar in personality. Neither had gained authority over the other, both being equally ineffectual. Alex was only too glad that Uncle Curly had overdone it on the booze and was now incapable of joining in with Arthur’s larking.
‘Come on,’ Ruby tried her best, flopping down on her chair and picking her glass of fizzy wine up. ‘Merry Christmas.’
Curly downed his glass in one go, bursting into tears. ‘Why did she leave me?’ he sobbed uncontrollably, staring at the floor.
‘Eat your dinner, Curly, it’ll go cold otherwise,’ Ruby told him.
‘Yeah, shut up,’ Arthur grunted, ‘you fat fool.’ He filled his mouth with a whole roast potato and carried on talking. ‘She left you ‘cause you’re a fat slob,’ he went on, spitting over Alex’s dinner as he turned to look for the cranberry sauce.
Curly grabbed the bottle of fizz and filled his glass up, spilling some over his dinner.
* * *
A little later, after the sherry trifle had been well and truly polished off, the family settled down in front of the TV. Katie positioned herself as far away from Alex as she could, and he didn’t argue with her. The Prime Minister came on, delivering his Christmas wishes:
‘Today is a day to sit back and enjoy our time with our loved-ones.’ Alex looked over at Katie as the PM continued: ‘My family and I wish all of you out there a very merry Christmas, happy in the knowledge that the new year brings many great things for our country.’
‘Bullshit,’ Arthur called out, his paper hat sitting lopsided on his head. Ruby glared scornfully at him.
‘The new year brings dignity to all those seeking it,’ the PM went on. Arthur grabbed hold of the remote control and changed the channel.
‘Oh what a wonderful time of year,’ Curly started singing, waving a can of lager in front of his face, before collapsing in a heap on Alex’s lap. Alex pushed him off and jumped up.
‘I need some…’ he announcing, some bizarre pain seizing his mind. It was a sensation he had never quite felt before. For some reason his mind was now full of The Space – not The Space in itself, but thoughts of It; like some Thing, some Being, had placed the thoughts there. ‘I need some space,’ he said, feeling he wasn’t speaking his own words. He left the room.
* * *
Outside in the cold, Reaping Icon came to stand next to Alex. ‘You need an aim in life,’ said Reaping Icon, looking across the street at Emma’s house. ‘Something to give your existence meaning.’
‘Like what?’
Reaping Icon tapped his chin, humming. ‘Assassinate the Prime Minister?’ he suggested casually. ‘He’s planning on being very naughty. You could stop him.’
‘What? No, no, I’m not doing anything like that.’
‘Why not – haven’t you got it in you?’
A large black car pulled up at the end of the drive and, the engine still running, just waited there. Alex felt compelled to go to it, too nervous to challenge Reaping Icon. As he did, the back door opened and he looked inside. Sitting on the back seat was a fairly elderly man in a smart black pinstripe suit. H
is grey hair was slicked back with gel, and his teeth held between them a huge cigar. ‘Get in,’ the man said without moving his mouth, the sound escaping either side of the aromatic burning brown tube.
‘Or you could rape your wife,’ Reaping Icon whispered in Alex’s ear. Alex got in the car and it drove off.
‘Where are we going?’ Alex asked the elderly gent, looking around inside the car. All he could see looking forward was his own reflection in a vast, bland metallic sheet shielding the driver.
‘You have been invited to speak with the government,’ he told Alex.
‘Why me?’
‘The Prime Minister asked for you specifically.’
‘Really? Me?’ Alex was quite pleased for a moment, suddenly remembering what Reaping Icon had just suggested to him. He dropped the conversation, remaining silent for the rest of the journey. His mind travelled from recess to recess, pondering over everything he’d done so far in his life. That shouldn’t have taken too long, to be fair, as he’d not really done that much at all. He still worked in Lennon’s shop – the only job he’d ever had since he was old enough to work and the only one he’d probably ever have – and his sham marriage was pitiful. He felt somehow that he deserved every piece of crap that got flung his way in life, simply because he hadn’t put enough effort in to drag himself out of the cesspool. Still, it wasn’t that bad. There were certainly people who were in a much worse mess than he was. He knew that he could, could, alter things if he really wanted to – if he needed to. Perhaps he was biding his time, he thought, for the right motivation to come along. Was that event now beginning to unfold as he sat in the back of this car on his way to the PM? Possibly. Time would tell, wouldn’t it?
He checked his watch. It was an hour fast. He never did alter it when the clocks go back in the autumn – he liked to think he preferred to live in twelve months of summer time instead, and that not changing his watch would reflect this. The more likely reason was he was too idle to change it. It was a simple task, changing the time on a watch twice a year, but he chose not to. He had taken himself out of abiding by that rule – one of the only rules that he did bend, and one that had no consequence on others. What a shrivelled little turd it made him feel. Again he checked his watch, somehow hoping the hour had altered of its own accord. Katie had long picked at him for not changing the hour. One tiny victory against her was still a victory. Katie picked at everything he did. He caught his reflection in the metallic sheet in front, the paper hat out of the cracker still on his head. Katie must once have seen something in him, and he in her. That was over ten years ago now – a long time. Something made him feel they’d just settled for each other, thinking they could do no better. Clearly Katie had not confronted her true sexuality and allowed herself to get carried into a dead marriage. There was dead silence in the back of the car, and Alex could see the elderly man was smiling as he puffed on the cigar. It wasn’t a particularly unpleasant smell, but Alex just wished he wasn’t smoking. Somehow it made him feel the lesser of the two – or, at the very least, he attributed this feeling of inadequacy in comparison to his fellow occupant to the cigar. It stood between them, lying there in the man’s mouth like a lead barrier or a gaping chasm. And, just like lead, its poison both swirled in plain sight and seeped in the unseen. Alex could see nothing at this exact point in time; he was at a loss to know what could be done to rectify anything that had befallen him. Yes, he could leave his wife and enter instead into a relationship with Emma, the one he should have been with all along; but somehow that seemed out of the question. Things never were that easy, were they? He just couldn’t find the gumption within himself to take that extra bit of effort needed. Never mind, he was on his way to meet the PM for some reason, and perhaps that would sort everything out for him. His mere presence – being there whilst things unfolded around him – would be enough to spark alteration.
Several hours passed and Alex needed the toilet. He wanted to ask the man if he’d stop the car so that he could dive behind a bush and relieve himself, but he couldn’t pluck up the courage. Then, they pulled into an underground car park and came to a halt. The elderly gent sat silently for a moment, gurning right at his young passenger, before checking his watch. ‘Goodbye,’ he said to Alex, and looked past him through the window. Alex turned to look, seeing nothing but an empty car park.
‘What now?’ he asked the gent nervously.
‘Cigar?’ he asked back, taking one from his inside jacket pocket.
‘No, thanks.’
‘This is where we part company,’ he carried on, putting the cigar back in his pocket with a look of mild sadness on his face. He again looked past Alex and out of the window. Alex slowly opened the door and stepped out, closing the door again just in time for the car to speed off.
He looked bemusedly around the empty space, wondering to himself if he looked suspicious. He now desperately needed the toilet, but couldn’t very well relieve himself here. Looking around, he saw a bright green exit sign up ahead in the distance, even though it was in the opposite direction the car had just gone in. He started to walk towards it, hands deep in his pockets, as the sound of an engine came back into his ears. He turned to see the same car speeding towards him. The brakes slammed on and the rear window opened. Expecting the elderly man, Alex instead saw the PM sitting in the back. ‘Am I glad to see you!’ he went, a look of dread on his face. Alex read his expression as relief, and felt instantly pleased and somehow important. The PM needed him! Oh, what splendour. ‘Get in, get in!’ he went on. Alex did so, getting back in the car and speeding off with the main man.
‘What’s this all about?’ Alex asked him.
‘My friend, you and I are going to make history,’ he beamed with joy, and a hint of horror, ‘we are going to change the world.’
‘How’?
‘You don’t know who you are, do you?’
‘I’m Alex.’
The PM smiled then frowned, deep in thought as his stare loomed deep into Alex’s mystified gaze. ‘I trust you’ve had words with Reaping Icon by now, in this current lifetime?’
‘How do you know about Reaping Icon, and what do you mean this lifetime?’
‘Alex!’ the PM laughed, ‘Reaping Icon has been in touch with me as well. We are both one of The Great Collective. You and I, some of the last few immortals… plagued by these false memories and endless life after life. Reaping Icon has promised to change all that, if we assist him.’
‘Eh?’ Alex was dumbfounded, barely able to form a glib response, let alone take any of the PM’s words in. ‘I thought I’d made him up in my mind, like an invisible friend or something.’
‘An invisible friend?’ the PM roared with laughter, clutching his stomach as the hilarity of such a thing stunned him with powerful physical guffaws. Suddenly, he was deadly still again with no trace of even a giggle as he turned to Alex with such pain and sorrow tearing at his self and whispered: ‘He is anything but our friend.’
Alex studied closely the PM’s shiny face; he couldn’t help it, it was so near to his own right now. It was so glossy, so over-produced just like it appeared on TV. This in itself felt strange to Alex as he’d always have expected it to be totally different to what the TV showed. Dry, grey and cracked would have been the reality Alex was expecting, but instead he got the moist smooth sheen as seen on the box. Not that it mattered, but there was something untoward about the PM’s face – like it wasn’t his actual face. Beneath the glitzy skin, worn soft and round like a pebble on the bed of a fast-flowing river, lay that dry, grey and cracked person Alex presumed he would physically see. He desperately needed the toilet.
‘We have much to achieve using our connection to The Space, my immortal companion,’ the PM continued. ‘We will cure world hunger, end all wars… we will be supreme leaders of Earth!’ He looked up to the heavens, obscured by the roof of the car, as Alex scratched his chin.
The two men made their way into the PM’s office, where the main man closed and loc
ked the door. Behind the vast oak desk, a green leather material covering its surface, stood a huge black upright box. It could have been a coffin stood on its end, but Alex couldn’t see any removable lid. He did, however, feel keen about it in an uneasy way. It drew him in to have a look; kept wanting more and more attention as it just stood there.
‘What’s that?’ Alex asked.
‘That’s my desk,’ the PM replied in haste, smiling.
‘No, the big box behind it,’ Alex clarified.
The PM crept over to Alex, turning his back to the box and whispered: ‘You’ve forgotten everything from your past existences, haven’t you?’
‘What past existences?’
The PM went over to the box and touched it, sighing, before sitting down at his desk in front of it. ‘There are a small number of us left, Alex, who haven’t been completely diluted by centuries of wiped memories. These few, we must trace; then, we start our work to bring the human race together as one force… an intergalactic force for good!’
‘And what does that entail?’
‘We must gather The Great Collective back together and ensure we remember from this life to the next. That way, we can sort this mess out on Earth and pool all our resources into heading for the stars.’
‘And what’s out there?’
‘Humanity’s future, of course. Listen, Alex, if we’re going to be living forever then we must expand our horizons. Earth is tired, worn out. If we do not jump ship, head out and find new planets to live on, our subsequent lives will become increasingly horrific.’ The PM held back tears as he saw in his spacely vision what lay in wait for the future of humanity – a future that was nearing at pace. ‘First, it’ll be too hot here, then… oh, the horrors!’ He sobbed, waving his fists about at unseen enemies. Then, he stood up straight and caught his reflection in a large mirror across the room. Pointing at his own face, he yelled: ‘I’m watching you, fucker!’ Sitting back down with intent, he picked up two pencils off his desk and sharpened them furiously. ‘I don’t know if I can go on, Alex, in this current life. Mark my words, though, I will be back and we will continue our plans.’ So intense was his desire not to exist at this exact moment in time that he stuck the sharpened pencils up his nostrils and yelled, ‘Long live The Great Collective,’ before bashing his head down on the desk, driving the pencils deep up his nose and into his brain and ending its ability to function. Blood oozed out of his face as he lifted it up off the desk and looked over at Alex looking back in terror. ‘It hurts,’ he mumbled, before his face slammed back onto the desk. Bye, bye, PM. Alex looked over at the mirror, the paper hat sitting on his head like a vivid release of obnoxious innocence. Things felt very wet between his legs, and he looked down to see that he’d wet himself. There came a knock at the door. Alex froze, deadly silent, keeping his eyes on himself in the mirror. Just a couple of hours ago he’d been sitting with his wife and the in-laws having Christmas dinner; now he was locked in the PM’s office with the dead body of the main man. His enjoyment of Christmas had been dwindling fairly steadily year after year since he’d left childhood, and this was now perhaps one of the worst. At least it was different, though. He imagined himself off somewhere else on an amazing adventure with thrills and spills hitherto unexperienced. He had hardly experienced anything yet in his short life, so these thrills and spills needn’t have been too extravagant. His imagination was not the most waxing and he quickly found himself backed into a corner and confined to his present predicament. He wanted to do things in his life, yes, it’s just that he hadn’t really given much thought as to what things. He wanted to be with Emma, and yet he didn’t. It was a muddle, a hotchpotch of gobbledygook mashing around his mush-brain. He’d continued with Katie just that little bit too long, and felt he couldn’t come out of it now. Would he lose face? Would he regret leaving Katie?