Apocalypse at Harpers Lane

by Mackenzie Mazerolle

  To be quite frank, as the most intimate observer of this saga I know where fair hearts such as Joe Pig’s will now roam. I’ll be damned if you see me there.

  TWO

  “Resigning? Why on earth would you want to do that? Hell, you damn near just got here!”

  Unfortunate it is, having to respond hostile remarks. It simply is what it must be, there’s nothing I could possibly do otherwise. The scripture told me, places I need to avoid. I would not have gotten such a warning less it meant me doomed without action.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Rickard; do not take this personally between your staff or students. The course and manner of work were just fine I merely have personal affairs which demand my undivided attention. I will once I can return, to which I will leave my employment to your discretion. Again, I apologize for the short notice. Good day, Mr. Rickard.”

  That seemed to cover it. I notice bewilderment and frustration before turning my attention towards the exit. Walking out the doors to the school, a sense of relief sways through me, then dissipates into a very intriguing curiosity. What exactly must I do to avoid what is said to becoming... No way, never will I endure the madness I had endured before. I, in a twisted sense of logic, appreciate what the experience had done for me. I can’t remember the particulars of my early psychosis, fragments of feelings I felt throughout were all I had to base. Those alone I could feel the drastic change as the small but ever crucial revelation I had triggered my mind back to its own.

  Appreciation is all I feel now, for my sanity, for my ability to respond to situations without the condensation of smut. No more words to describe my new-found moral reasoning, I let what is to happen fall into its own place. By doing just that my only obligation than becomes to choose from the ground what I would like to pick back up. This, of course, applies just as well to the workings of the mind.

  Closing the large heavy doors to my apartment complex, the busy noises of downtown Fredericton subside. I climb up the many swirling steps. Seven floors, you’d figure they’d put an elevator up.

  ...

  Seven floors...

  My pace quickens, something had come to my attention. I quickly settle into my apartment, close and lock the door. Noticing to myself the infrequency to which I lock, especially, while at home. Not since my years as a freshman while experimenting with various psychedelics (not all illegal at the time) did I ever lock the door. Why now the sudden reaction... Leave it be, for now, it will come.

  Opening my well-organized pack I find Stanley’s estranged gift. There it was; the seventh floor... Was it a coincidence my apartment was also on the seventh floor? Clearly, only one way to find out, although it is unfortunate I could not, if wanted, believe in such a thing as random happenings. Philosophy aside, there’s just far too complex of workings within a single cell of our body, rather the billion others’ forever multiplying. Considering that, which becomes more unbelievable; that there is a purpose behind everything that happens? Or the statement declaring all that crazy shit that makes us tick, a biochemical freak accident which so happened to create such an absurd combination of random molecules that, as result; voila! Roofers, pediatricians, all kinds of humans unite and inherit thy world.

  ... So much thought, and I’ve yet to read a page.

  I begin flipping through, analyzing its format and structure. No chapters, no sections or quotation marks. It seems to be straight storytelling start to end. Peculiar, possibly admirable/

  ...

  ‘What now is this’… A small sheet, squared off and less the size of my thumbnail. Yes, blotter acid for sure. Almost anyways, can never be too sure nowadays with all the substitutes any basement mixer can scope out on the internet. Hell, when it comes to psychedelics you can pretty be sure what you have isn’t what it’s made out to be. It is my theory as well; authentic acid is just plain extinct. Realistically, I agree, somewhere on this planet people are good and well trippin' as we speak on legitimate LSD. I’m just saying unless you’re a chemist you’ll never know for sure what you’re doing… I need not explain the possible pros to such a worthy experience. If you’ve dropped acid you already know more than words could put. However at the same time, I agree with the latter, you just can’t trust black market purchases.

  The taste was bittersweet under my tongue. I know it was probably a fair point I made myself against consummation. Then again for all, I know this could be the last sheet of acid in the world... The last human to swallow paper deity? This was far too great an opportunity for a person to not eat this paper.

  There hence was made the greatest mistake of my life.

  THREE

  No colors. No gentle insects of my imagination running and tickling the inside of my skin. I waited for the uncontrollable laughter to erupt at my own thoughts, I found myself dull. ‘No, Joe my boy that was not LSD. I’m afraid you’ve ingested the least known about substance in the universe!’

  “Oh?” I reply to myself.

  “Well yes, fool. Why the hell you would take it anyways, what with all the ‘bad vibes’ and what have you… Of course, I’m not complaining. Wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

  “I don’t imagine you would be. Where are you from?”

  “Oh no you don’t, don’t just get to ‘know’ what's up, just like that now. How then would anything really stick at all considering the thickness of that skull of yours? Trust me, I ought to know. “

  “Well then, divine friend, where we off to?”

  ‘...The elevator.”

  “But friend, there isn’t any elevator. I’ve sent the bastards notes myself suggestion its installation. And it’s been far too hard on the legs, what with walking to work and back.”

  “How did you become such a fool?”

  “And what exactly might that mean?”

  ‘...’

  The voice was gone. Jack made his way to the hall, making sure the last months were not delusion and there no elevator. Awful, yes, that one must take such precautions to separate reality from anything other. However, there are many out there I’m sure that must do the like. The odds that those particulars actually went through anything such as my own experience months before, I find much doubt.

  “Well I’ll be damned, bastards got the elevator in.”

  Going up close I already began to admire its elegance. Tiny black casings enclosing even smaller bulbs, all around and down as if you yourself were the lottery prize.

  “Lad has really gone out of his way with it this time… No complaints here.”

  I step in, the doors acknowledging my presence, opening and shutting the large red steel on its own.

  “What floor?”

  A doorman surprised Joe inside the elevator. He was small, about five feet small. He wore a suit which was obviously custom tailor job and a black and white striped tie. The strangest thing about this man, however, was the fake moustache he wore. He didn’t look like he had any issues with hair growth anywhere else, why then did he wear that…

  “Let me guess, the first floor?”

  “Don’t see any reason why not.”

  “Nah, you wouldn’t…”

  “Now why do you say it like that?”

  “Big shot thinker, been down to limbo and back, you have. Too frightened to take much of a leap, you most certainly are. No risk, no gain... The first floor it is.”

  The scorn within his tone baffled me dearly. Again I find myself antagonized by unknown forces. First, that damned prick of a desert, now this moustache wearing dwarf with an apparent bone to pick with me.

  “Take me to the seventh floor.”

  “You mean the seven?”

  “Yes I mean the seventh.”

  No reply. I can feel a smirk beneath the mask though I see nothing. Darvin, as I decided to call him quietly pulled the levers to its opposite going extremity. The pure delight I knew came from his voice as he directed our soon to be a mystical
cart.

  “Goiing down!”

  As the words made their leave, Darvin did as well. Noticing him on the floor directly beneath his feet started to levitate into some apparent custom escape route that would leave me alone in the elevator. I reached for him, concerned about being left alone again. I did so, regrettably as Darvin casually pulled out a long three- forty-five magnum. He said nothing, simply pointed and disappeared.

  The lift took stop moments later. Without the faintest clue as what to expect, an inexplicable feeling pleasant but uneasy came over me. Please tell me, who-ever may be in charge of such things. Have my decisions yet again falter my step to the close slippery steps of the infamous edge, again?

  The doors open before the brilliant nothingness of the white consumed the shade of the lift. My questions immediately were brought to resolute as a voice echoed across to me.

  “Get yer fuckin arse over here n I’ll fill you in”…

  Peculiar, but not too strange in comparison to what I’m used to.

  “Where are you?” I call out as casual as one can while considering the circumstances.

  “Just walk dammit!”

  What is it, I mime while stepping forward. How relevant it seems, to be aimlessly walking within the subconscious.

  To my relief, I was in fact quite immediate to my destination. A man quickly became apparent, surprisingly so considering he wore what seemed all white a suit. To add, he stood still behind what seemed a pristine bar counter. The tint of the white in which all these things I saw were, the purest tone I don’t believe ever to have witnessed.

  “Enough wasting time... What you fancy for a drink?”

  “My apologies, what’s on the menu?”

  “Well that depends, what do you long for most in life?”

  “Some kind of guidelines regarding the weird I’ve seen this year wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Oh? What’s wrong with the weird you have?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your life, in particular… You’re only meant for one kind of life so, I’d get used to it.”

  The man, with a white beard, trimmed neatly to compliment his flawless suit and home, grunts in what seemed disapproval.

  “Hmmph, and here I got the impression you were something of a clever man. In actuality, not so bright are ya?”

  “I have my moments.” My smirk backs me up in my statement; “Was it you who put me in that… Place? And who was it? Who was I?”

  “Ahhhh yes, the one who got out… Not nearly as interesting as who it was that put you in there in the first place.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Hmm, not a believer in the big man upstairs, are ya.”

  “You mean Santa Clause?”

  ...The man seemed to take offence to this.

  I continue; Listen, pops. There may have been some kind of misunderstanding… I’m not looking for any spiritual enlightening or finding of god – whichever you’d prefer to call it. Maybe a few answers to some of the things that have been happening, but if you say I can’t have that then perhaps I should take my leave.”

  Laughter, the man mocks me. I make no expression, the man carried on.

  “Farid it’s too late for that. You’re here now, there’s no turning back. And you should know by now that if we say there’s no turning back, it might be time to play the game.”

  “Game?”

  “Have a drink son and give the dice a roll. You’re a man with nothing to lose aren’t you?”

  “To answer your question, I do value my sanity, so I’ll hold back from the dice tonight. I’ll have that drink though.”

  “Very best, I’ll mix you up something special.”

  ...Something sinister came from this last remark. Before I could explore possibilities to why the drink was made and sat curiously in front of me. His dark blue eyes, unnatural especially in this white light kept staring directly at me. Definitely something awry here, that was no lie. But then again, what would you do. I mean how often do you get offered an as close as you get – heavenly beverage. Laced or not, I could only imagine what angels use to get high.

  I set the glass down, glowing foam on the side of the retainer.

  “Not bad pops, what else you got on the menu?”

  I noticed another eerie smile break across his face. Wait, something was happening...

  My legs began to feel numb. Blackness started to close in my peripherals, the drink. No godly high came with vast wisdom to teach. Oxygen was not making it to my brain, likewise to the effects of chloroform.

  “Arghh... What cheap parlor tricks is this now, you...”

  Too weak now even for words, my last big of strength keeps long a stare as I can upon my adversary.

  Finally taking a break from his wicked laughter, he reaches for his forehead peeling down from his skin a sort of elastic zipper. The white, the posh beard, upright posture to the short length of his hair all changed as he unzipped his facade. A mere glimpse sent me into a frenzy and I mutter to myself, in hopes of remembering his name. I’ve seen him before...Ugggh cocksuckin deviants and their cheap liquor!

  Consciousness finally fades. No name carries with me, just the faint image of a wild looking professor... In memory of, that was the inscription below... Surely, surely that was not the late Charles Isaacs? Professor of philosophy… My predecessor now turned enemy?

  No more thought.

  Chapter Six

  Welcome to Dystopia

  ... No, please, don’t let me wake up to any more delusional fantasies… God dammit, I’ll stop, I swear I’ll put all the drugs behind me. Just not another dream I can’t wake…

  “It’s too late, Mr. Pig.”

  ... My eyes open. Sure enough, more brilliant white. Its fluorescent like embrace burns the skull just as the ones in school.

  “That’s Mr. Buckingham to you cockroach! What is this shit, the hell did I ever do to you?”

  “It’s not what you did, Mr. Buckingham, it’s what you didn’t do.”

  “Jesus enough with the psycho gibberish, speak English, explain what it is you want.”

  “Calm yourself Mr. Buckingham; we have lots of time to talk things over. For now, you wait here, while I prepare. Oh and do try to remain calm, I need you tip-top, for now anyway. Good evening Mr. Buckingham“.

  “Sure hope she’s a real sweet spot back at roach motel, you fuckin cockroach!”

  He stops for a moment... Should I be regretting what I just said?

  “You most likely should Joe, you most likely should.”

  The Einstein-gone totally awry looking character disappeared towards the infinite white.

  “More filthy parlor tricks... “

  Just isn’t any room left for a class it seems, in this world.

  TWO

  What is, if you can remember, the longest you’ve ever been grounded to your room as a child? If you don’t remember, worry not. It’s utterly irrelevant next to the patience I had to acquire and acquire fast. He wants me fit on my toes? That bastard, I’ll give him what he wants alright…

  On that note, I return to my book given to me by Stan, The seventh floor. I had been missing something, any little detail…

  {Our tiresome protagonist, narrowly escaping the instilled limbo was now to be consumed by Mr. Dystopia as so he could win his prize and traverse to the real world. However, our weary traveler could not possibly fathom the true depth of his transformation and the methods that would be put into motion. No longer fiction Mr. Buckingham would find himself unknown in the midst of a reality never meant to be in. His assailant and the ever-relentless Mr. Dystopia now planned his route. His destination; Pig’s new-found reality.|

  ...

  “Well, that’s a load of nonsense if I’ve ever heard any. The hell gives…”

  I look back and within the pages of the book. No name, no author. I continue to
read in hopes of finding a coherent answer.

  {The one, supposed to know all that was meant to be done, now that knowledge has drifted between cracks of time. His birth-given right to control all that we know has escaped his being, delivering an all-new multitude of control for whoever bears notice to its existence.}

  …Nothing. How irritable of a theme is there not more than the repeating sequence of nothing. No more words, the book, its pages- left blank. This no doubt just one of the endless fashions karma seems to enjoy screwing him with.

  “Heeeeeere Piggy piggy piggy pig.”

  ...You’ve got to be kiddin me.

  “Heeeeeeeere Piggy Joe Piggy Joe Piggy Joe… It’s time to make history my dear subject!”

  So that’s it… Fuckin guinea pig for whatever mad plan he/

  “No more fretting away at the inevitable. You may even come to thank me if all goes well...”

  No more words should he deserve. Stay cool Joe. Cool and collected, that is the only way you’re going to get out of this tightrope.

  “Oh so very inspiring Mr. Pig but what makes you believe that not being exactly what I want you to do?”

  ...

  “Hmm. Alright, follow me.”

  The door opens. Nothing seems much sophisticated, wherever I may be. I still doubt any attempt to escape from this fantastical ward would have success through physical means. No, listen to no one, not even ones’ own self... That; is the only true way to avoid manipulation.

  “...”

  I notice Mr. Dystopia make strange expressions. These bastards and their mind reading, where’s the battle if assholes play gods while victims get left with nothing but the shitty end to the stick called limitations.

  We continue walking down narrow halls, consistently white as I expect nothing else to see.

  “Bust out, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Bust out? HA! This is his domain, you fool. What could you possibly do other than turn us into a vegetable at my say so?”