Chapter 5: The death of a soul.
“Abigail, Abigail, Abigail please pick up,” he said sadly to himself as the ringing sound on the phone went on without anyone answering. It was the first time in a long time since he had used words like ‘please’ and such.
It had been this way the whole week since his dismissal. After being forcefully thrown out that Sunday, there had been a glimmer of hope, a hope that told that everything would go on well, that they had made a mistake, a hope that told that they would regret that mistake. But with the power and influence that the president had, none of the reputable labels had even considered setting up a meeting with him. They had all told more or less the same story; that they would call him back, that their agents were currently in meetings or busy. They had even given him false hopes by telling of his unique style and such things- but he had never went any further than speaking to secretaries. And now he wanted to speak to his secretary. To try and keep her from leaving him. But the phone just kept on ringing.
F**k. F**k. F**k. I am Rikki. I do not get ignored, he said in his mind.
The week had been horrible. The drugs and alcohol made him think too much and bitter, and the prostitutes, now that he, for the first time in a long time, had to beg, left something incomplete in him. The ejaculations and the screaming and laughing women usually sent euphoria and made him feel great but now, after the realisation that he was not all-needed, after they occurred, depression sunk in.
Fine, I don’t need them.
“I said I don’t need them!” he said aloud to himself.
“You don’t?” The Voice asked in his head.
Yes I don’t.
“Do some lines and you’ll feel better. You are better. You are Rikki.”
He took out a packet from his pocket and ‘did the lines’, rolled a bank note and inhaled them through his nose. The cocaine kicked in and The Voice became more audible. And less friendly.
“Rikki, Rikki, Rikki. The ’I am’ guy. A god,” The Voice taunted. The Voice, now with Rikki high on cocaine, sounded sarcastic, cynical and overall sinister. Rikki wondered if he realised these things now because he was high- whether when sober, this maliciousness of The Voice went undetected by him.
His heart-rate thumped harder, his face started sweating and he felt like something was moving underneath his skin and what with the heart-beat going on, feeling like a hammer on his temples and occipital bone – yes the heart beating felt like a hammer – The Voice took advantage of his panic.
“Rikki!” The Voice shouted, startling Rikki out of his mind, having him screaming in agony and fear, his hands automatically reaching his cheeks and forehead and scratching furiously. He collapsed onto the kitchen floor still scratching and screaming.
“The whore of mammon. That is what you are Rikki, a whore. A slut with an open wet cunt, whore.”
“I am not a whore!” He shouted loud. “I am not a whore!” he repeated.
The Voice ignored him. “Thou cannot worship two gods. And thou had a choice and thou chose and thou now self-destructs. You will die Rikki,” It said matter-of-factly.
“I will not die! I will not die! I will not die!” he went on incessantly and feverishly, shouting and scratching at the floor. He was lying between the kitchen wall where the phone hung and the kitchen table. The blinds were closed and only the light escaping where the blinds could not stop it came in the kitchen giving a dark and gloomy look, what with the kitchen painted brown and most of it wooden. He went on scratching the ceramic floor and the tips of his fingers started to bleed, and on his face were scratches and the skin was peeled off from where he had scratched making his face multi-coloured in yellow, brown and red. He looked horrible.
“You look horrible. Rikki. Yes you do. You are pathetic. You are scornful, you are no god. You sold your soul. Did you not? Did you not say “I will do anything for money” Rikki?” The Voice laughed its sinister laugh. “And now, will you die? For money?”
The questions reverberated through his mind. Time seemed to slow and then speed up again. He felt his heart thumping, then he did not feel it and felt it again. He started to notice the coldness of the floor, the brown hue of the kitchen and the blood stains on the floor.
I promise, he said pathetically as the effects started easing, regaining some control of himself. A foul odour emanated from him. He smelled it. I promise, he said again.
“You’ve crapped yourself you vile- you’ve pissed yourself you noisome excuse for an entity. Look at you now. Rikki the god on the floor with shit and piss in his pants. Knocked out by cocaine. You make me laugh. I own you now. No one will save you.” Then there was silence, a stillness, peace, after all the loudness and confusion, the rapid heartbeat and The Voice. Just silence and he lay there on the floor waiting for It- The Voice - to speak again, but it did not come back.
“I will save myself.” Dammit how much did I take? he asked himself. He went to the fridge and took out a bottle of water.
I promise, I won’t ever do cocaine anymore. He opened the bottle and drank all the water in one gulp and went to his bedroom, narrowly missed seeing himself in the mirror and fell on his bed to sleep.
-
Pain. F**king pain. Where is it coming from? Pain. Pain. Pain. My heart. F**k! Pain! No I am not dead. I am not. This is just pain. It’ll pass but where is it coming from. Pain! What did you do to Chantel!? F**k her! Then you left her. It was yours! It was yours. The child is yours. But she left. She’s gone. No! No! No! I don’t want to see her. I don’t. Pain. It’s on my body, it’s on my face. Yes my face. It’s burning. F**k. And the smell. What? Is that shit? Yes, look it is. On the left, on the right, on top and on the bottom it’s all shit. It’s in you, here look. Spit it out, it’s in your mouth. What the hell would you eat shit for? No, shit is not to be eaten. It is bad. You are a child. You have to learn. Your mother told you. Yes, my mother told me not to eat shit. The sun is hot, it’s burning and it’s burning the shit into me. Is it pleasant? You like the shit going into your skin, don’t you, you perverted piece of shit? No I don’t. I do not like such things. I should not. It is bad. Yes it is. I should wash this shit off me. I should hose it down. No, don’t touch your eyes with those shitty hands. But I have to- to remove the shit from my eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit. Is this what your parents wanted from you? Shit? Where are your parents anyway? Where are my parents? I don’t know. Your father tried with you. He really tried. You wouldn’t listen. No, you wouldn’t. Dammit, Rikki, wake up and wash this shit off.
He woke up. The room smelled foul. Made worse to him by the fact that the foul odour came from him. But somehow, oddly, it felt fitting. It felt like it was the way it was meant to be – to be dirty and foul like an animal, like a beast. It comforted him, such comfort as would a baby feel when in the arms of a loving mother. The best comfort in the world. He thought about his mother, the last time he’d seen her- that day when she left him at his father’s place and never came back. It was a memory imprinted on him, one that was clear as though it were happening at the moment. She dressed in her white dress, matching her white skin, matching her light blue eyes, matching her light blonde hair, matching him. She was perfect to him and has remained such ever since but, he had asked himself over and over again, would she have been more perfect if she had not left. Would she take her role as a mother and wipe him clean now, would she love him, did she ever love him, did she cry when she left him there on the porch telling him she would be back at six o’clock. No, she did not cry. She had assured him, she had even kissed him, but there were no tears on her face. Just that beautiful smile. It was weeks, with so much inquiries to his father, that his father had finally told him the truth that he would never see her again. Then he had stopped whining altogether, as if the only thing that had been vexing him was the uncertainty of whether his mother was coming back or not. His father tried.
He tried. He f**kin tried. But I didn’t let him. Yes I did not. I would’ve been something I could like. Someth
ing with self-respect, with dignity and all those that the unusual ones talk about. But it is life.
”Yes, Rikki it is life,” The Voice came back. It was the first time it was so clear when he had a little bit of sobriety. It was growing stronger.
“Where did it go wrong? Rikki? You have money, plenty. You can call over as many prostitutes as you like. You can travel the world and you have the means to do more. Much more. So what’s your problem?”
I don’t know. I am greedy and I accept it. I want more. I want more. I want-
“You want the force which can move you. A purpose, a meaning. Is that what you want?”
He considered this. And considered all the rubbish he had done in his life. What was his life about? He felt that he was just living to live. Not to do anything else. He wanted something to do other than just live.
Yes, I want meaning.
“Pathetic, even your name has no meaning.”
A pause ensued and he momentarily lost consciousness.
“Say you build something Rikki.” The Voice woke him up. “Say you build a building-the tallest in the world. Magnificent, majestic, elegant. And that building, you love very dearly- don’t worry I know you have lost the concept of love. And all this time, you nurture that building. But alas, there is one who, when you build he destroys. I am not saying anything about god or devil. No. It is that way Rikki, you try to build, and there will always be one or more out there trying to destroy. It is in life – you will realise how evil you are Rikki. Many have tried to build but you have been destroying.”
Dear voice in my head, what are you talking about?
“And if it is nothing then it will be nothing that stands against the builder. There is the mind- the most important and most valuable thing in the universe. And you, you nefarious, contemptible, wicked, degenerate, debased, corrupt, sinful creature- you have destroyed the minds of many; too many. You have destroyed the constituents of the building.”
I have not. No I have not. I have not. It was already destroyed. This is how I found it.
“You have not, you say. Boy, Rikki, do you not see that you are one of the demons that are responsible for the destruction? What message have you sent to the world with your power Rikki? Think about it.”
Rikki paused. And thought about the sum of his life’s influence. He knew the truth, but he wouldn’t admit it yet and so instead:
I made them free. I made them happy. I made them themselves. Freedom is the most importa-
“No,” The Voice interjected. “Freedom is bad. Freedom is wicked. Freedom destroys the building. You should be careful what you are free from or you might just self-destruct...like some people I know. All the time humanity has been striving away from evil, only to end up allowing it.”
There is no evil. There is no good. There is only naturalness.
“And only an idiot would agree that evil and good are not natural. You, here in your five-star apartment, you do not see the evil out there, which is why you can afford to soil yourself. Goodness and badness are alive Rikki. One requires much work, the other no work because it is destruction. Anyway, anything and everything that happens to one is because one deserves it.”
I do not understand
“Yes. You deserve not to understand. You deserve to soil yourself. You deserve to not have meaning. You deserve all that is happening. You deserve to self-destruct.”
Tell me how I have destroyed the building.
And The Voice told him. And he knew what was bothering him. He was near the edge where self -destruction becomes death. Near the point where self-destruction itself becomes alive.
Why Rikki Why. Couldn’t you see the obvious? You had enough power as angels but you chose to become a demon. An agent of badness. And now millions of children bear the seed of your corruption in their minds. But I am not the only one. He tried to console himself but it did not work, the badness was alive now and reproducing more than the goodness in his mind, unable to be contained. Do I even deserve to go and wipe my ass? He asked himself. No I don’t, so as punishment, for my sins, I will stay in bed this way the whole day until tomorrow.
The Keepers (or The Momentum). Page 8