Apocalypse at Harpers Lane

by Mackenzie Mazerolle

  I finished my drink, placed the money on the table and quietly made my exit.

  I had not realized the viciousness of my habit until making it a few steps outside the bar. I surely was without mistaken, quite drunk, and still out of place. The alcohol had still not done its job to a full extent. I needed another bottle, and perhaps an alleyway to make my physical life more demeaning than it already was inside my head.

  I carried on, stumbling and lowering my eyes when passing frantic youth and patrolling authority. It wasn’t a long walk, or at least I hadn’t noticed. I was in the heart of downtown now, young folk amuck everywhere; I began to feel more and more uneasy.

  Jesus Christ, you pathetic excuse for a man; afraid of the old, afraid of the young. Who if not another useless individual such as yourself could you not be afraid of?

  Almost speaking aloud, I quickly quieted as I entered through the doors. Oh no, my thoughts would alter, the room was full of those much younger than myself. This wasn’t the late-night liquor store I had imagined; their ties and their beautiful women marked my drunkard struggle like white on black. I made my way straight to the register, almost stumbling now a number of times.

  “A bottle, maybe forty-something… Anything with a kick, ya know? You get that?”

  Another tired and condescending woman; only this one, unfortunately, was beautiful. She did not answer; she left quietly and returned to what I presumed to be the manager.

  “There a problem here?”

  He says, with that indignant fuck you doing here tone of contempt.

  “A bottle man, I just need something with a little kick to get me home.”

  “How about’ a cab; the man bemused.”

  “I don’t need a fucking cab I need another drink!”

  My shouts echoed through the room. Mindless chatter ended on all corners for the people to observe the horrendous scene that now occurred.

  “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT!”

  Laughter shook the room until it seemed the building itself would collapse. The man at the counter than retorted;

  |We don’t serve whiskey here, sir, this is a winery.”

  I was quiet now...

  “I’ll take one.”

  Everything was quiet now, but I could hear the voices in the back and I knew jokes on my existence had ensued. I made it to the door, attempting to open it the wrong way I felt myself become redder than I already was. To make it worse I than stumbled upon exiting the store, dropped my bottle and watched it shatter across the outside floor.

  I bought another bottle than quickly left. The man at the counter I imagined to myself never stopped smiling the remainder of the night.

  Shite... Pure fucking shite; I amused myself while imitating a Scottish accent. Perhaps I was Scottish I would then wonder to myself, or at least half so. My name was Welsh, though’ I had no recollection of any sort of family.

  The wine was crap.

  I hated wine.

  As I stumbled through the alleys I realized; I hated this city. I reached in my pocket feeling the tender bills I got from that low life Sharky.

  I hated him.

  Finishing my wine I tossed the bottle and the glass shattered in front of me. A light turned on and elderly women made her way to the window.

  I did not know her, but I hated her too.

  Before I could turn my attention to the just as well hated streets more lights and a strange sound beheld me.

  Excuse me, sir, the man said. A moustache as pitiful as his job, about six three if I had to guess. Something came over me as the man approached… Something was familiar about the moustache.

  “Been doing some drinking tonight have you? I understand if it is one of those nights sir... Things happen, but you cannot be out here terrorizing other people.

  He was moving away from the car, coming closer and becoming more and more familiar. As he finished his words he entered the warmth of the only working street light and I finally put a name to his face. I couldn’t believe the horror of recognition as the man came closer and I realized it was me.

  “F-F-F-FUUUCK YOU!”

  At that moment my knees gave out and I was on the concrete of the street. I could see the feet of the officer standing in front of me. With the last of my strength, I muttered the word wanker and then blackness filled my thoughts.

  TWO

  Another night, another dollar; Officer Nixon was about the nightlife, pursuing any of the unwanted or unlawful. It was Friday so something was expected to be called in. Nothing too severe of course for this was small and for the most part low economic city; it retained a civilized society of people next to other larger communities.

  Nixon’s shift pertained to the downtown region. Drugs and alcohol abuse were his specialties. He had never condoned it, pledging himself years ago to do everything in his power to prevent its sinful crusade. Yes, Nixon was one of those cops that did everything by the book, a stickler if you will. But what he did have over the norm was his sincere concern for the general public. It was unfortunate that he would encounter Jim at his worst and abandoned by any god that has ever or should exist.

  Static hissed through his radio as his first call came in. Lester Street, otherwise known as crack Lester had a disturbance of the peace called in. Well, Nixon would see on to this. Not HIS lovely, lovely hometown. Born and raised, he had his share of tragedies like any other but had only been increasingly motivated by its progression. He would take care of this matter; it would be Lester Avenue when he was done with it.

  Nixon’s anti-drug crusade soon quieted when he arrived on the street in question. A man in a worn-out suit, not very etiquette, to begin with, was walking the streets. Nixon quickly chalked this up to the loss of love; a tragic needle even the most invincible of men seemed incapable of repelling. He himself had experienced this, as any man should. Nixon’s’ on the other hand was more severe than the usual, but again this only, therefore, encouraged his lasting ambition to take care of his community.

  The man wasn’t tall, neither short. In the sense of a slight scruff, not abnormally overweight and much the sense of tragedy in his eyes; he seemed quite generic. Just at the wrong place living in the wrong time.

  However, a few moments into chatting with the man he seemed stricken with a fear. A little flattered, Nixon wondered if he really looked so intimidating. He smiled and continued his dialogue until the man shouted out in rage and fell to the ground. Now it was only a matter of routine, he was drunk and there was a place for just that kind of behavior.

  Nixon continued to lug his swollen victim into the backseat. The drive wasn’t long and within but a few minutes he had arrived back at the station where other officers who admired his flawless reputation were only too happy to help.

  “How’s it going tonight there buddy Frank? Hell of a night or what?”

  “That she is Eddy, help me bring this unfortunate one in will ya?”

  “Not a problem, eh, we got that creepy feller down there now though, the one all about that voodoo witchcraft n’ what not. What ya’ want to do?”

  “Don’t worry about him, that nonsense is harmless. Bring him on in there.”

  THREE

  As if born again by some malevolent force I awoke cold, stupid but not alone. It was dark so I could not see anything, but I could easily feel another’s presence. I grunted, making myself wary to the other and to myself for that matter. Low, malicious laughter began to rise from the other individual and through the small chamber.

  “... Who, who’s there? What’s so funny?”

  “Ohhh, let’s say your existence.”

  “What? Why do you say that?”

  I waited a moment, saying nothing than asked him to repeat or therefore elaborate on his meaning.

  “Everything about you is tainted with misery... You are worthless to the core.”

  Those words...

 
“Who are you?”

  “They call me the Jackal, and I know more about you than you would ever have the slightest inclination towards.

  “... What do you want?”

  “To make a deal...”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “The only real kind of deal there is to make.”

  “... And that is?”

  “Your soul for these pills...”

  I still could see nothing. I could feel his hands reach out in front of me.

  “What do they do?

  “They will change your life; bend it to your will. What you perceive now as tragedy will then transform into clarity.

  “... And what does the soul do?”

  “It gives you something to bargain with.”

  I see... Alright, you have a deal.

  Discreet but sincere laughter again echoed the darkest of rooms.

  My favorite sense of logic you have my lad. Take these and see the brilliant lights not yet shown within these four walls. But mind you, take only one or does your worst nightmare’ come true and you be stuck in that utopia of the mind you call heaven.

  “What’s so bad about being stuck in heaven? Not that I really believe in such a place...”

  “You don’t need to, you are the supernatural and everything is wrong about being stranded in paradise; no folly, no life... No life, no folly!”

  His final words made haste, I heard rumbling from the other corner. His movements and the dark did not allow any reprise or warning as he leaped at me with what I assume were his fists. With that, my strange night turned stranger and ended again with blackness.

  . . .

  I awoke to a policemen knocking on the thick concrete door. I hadn’t a clue towards the time a day until I made it outside but by then my concerns were furthermore upon the strange happenings throughout the night. During this particular and temporary period of amnesia, all I could remember were faint images of the night that just occurred. It was wondrously horrific; a nightmare of a show and I was bound to start piecing it together.

  The sun hit me like a wave of water, the kind only found in the most sacred of streams. I was about to make way when the officer in question whom I had seemed to lack notice to bid me farewell.

  “I bid you farewell; pilgrim.”

  I looked back, partially sun- blinded I took no notice to detail of the man. All that had strung familiarity was his moustache and an eerie sense of presence. Without comment, I carried on my walk back home. Convenient was my final reflections while exiting the daft jail guard they call authority. Pissing out of their asses, the lot of them and I didn’t even want to think of the prisoner I had spent the night with.

  Far too exhausted to remain enraged my state of presence became neutral. It was neutral but ever curious about what I had experienced the night before and towards my dreams. Perhaps my unfortunate endeavors had not led me astray on whatever tragic course I thought to be aligning with. Is this than the potency of what would otherwise be known as rock bottom?

  The walk was halfway over and the light hit me in a strange way. Perhaps this is the possibility of a new start; a new perspective. I suppose it’ to be nothing new, the invincibility of defeat. I had seen in horror films of gore I would watch as a child. It was always my favorite experience being entranced by a good watch and finding the most unlikely of the story carrying through. Everyone else to be engulfed in whatever mad shows the director wished to decapitate. All while that which was doomed; the weak- measly third-trimester know-it-all pulling off a change of heart and pushes through whatever demons a writer in a foreign room could conjure. It was absolutely delightful...

  Grabbing for a smoke my house had been in sight when I realized something truly awful. A small ball of tin foil lay there as if it was always there whereas it certainly should not have. I found my smokes, searched desperately for a match with no luck. I blinked was already in the dark living room I called home. The tin foil ball was now open, and to my utmost pleasure of surprise tiny fragments of paper sat delicately in a pose. There were three pieces all together, all of the different sizes. I lay them down on the table and then proceeded to light my smoke from the stove.

  While remaining in the kitchen I began to put it all together. I was shacked up with a bum… That was no dream. As well he apparently did consider all his witch doctor ranting’ sold what appeared to be high-quality blotter acid.

  ... I knew there was a god.

  It was then I finished my smoke and examined the three pieces of paper that lay before me. One was noticeably nothing, a pure white substance almost appearing as if it were not from this world.

  The second was tanned; it had nothing more than a thin sketch of what appeared to be a moose. As well it was smiling.

  The third caught my attention immediately as the first I would take. It was a more natural shade of white with the kindest yellow I had ever seen. The picture was nothing more than the classic smiley face, very much greeting and inevitably welcoming.

  For the first time in what seemed like weeks, I lay back on my sofa and tried on the ridiculous concept we call relaxation. The acid had a sweet tangent but utterly foreign taste to it. Whatever it was, I liked it as well welcomed its embrace.

  What now I thought, would keep my mind at ease? A movie usually does it; a good watch always keeps the shadow monkeys at bay.

  I began to feel exhilarated, put to so to speak- the natural MDMA effect from LSD.

  Now to watch... Twister? A maybe, then again I wouldn’t want to just bust a gut, we’d want to learn something now, wouldn’t we.

  Alice in Wonderland? Too much.

  Guy Ritchie’s Revolver? Would probably literally blow my mind.

  Enemy mine with Dennis Quade... We have a winner.

  FOUR

  The beach was warm, warmer than any sun could provide on earth, or at least the earth we know rather. Yes, it’s safe to assume this writer believes in, something else. Not something so different but merely in the belief that some reality is born through imagination, and it grows through ink. When a name has been written, does it not need fire to burn down its existence? If so wouldn’t you need to burn all evidence, any elsewhere position where may lay their name?

  It works the same for us humans, or at least so I believe. Is it not said time and time before that it is the memory of loved ones that keep them alive? Who better is remembered than those written in story after their mortal flesh had long since decay?

  Yes, it is the power of the story that retains man to ‘god’. We become immortalized through a story and warily omniscient while in the realm of imagination. Hell, I’m sure he who wrote the bible would agree.

  Now here we are on the sands of the uncreated. The beach is long and remains empty. No inhabitants lurk in attempt to sell visitors, expedition missionaries or distant conquerors. No incompetent human minds lurk here, none but one and he so dictates there only one other person afoot. Her name is Claire, and today she will reunite with the unfortunate Jim. From here we can only hope my intentions derive from her of pleasantries and fortune and not the alternative which has so consistently stricken these poor archetypes.

  She awaits him now, patiently in such a place she could only describe as the most beautiful reflection of our fair protagonist. She is everything he is not; regardless if this not true in the ‘real’ world which Jim resides.

  FIVE

  Nothing drastic at present though I’m certain it is in the post. I feel exhilarated. Moving on to something more I watch as Dennis Quade battles his enemy. No idea what it’s called, just some alien; Dennis knows not what it is either, for if he did he might not have wanted to kill it.

  What is our fascination with aliens? Especially as the coming years pass us by. Perhaps it has something to do with science, the more we know the more we realize the impossibility of their NOT being another species in space. I suppose it’s that we conjure u
p a new race of our own, the sci-fi. What strange occult that has turned out to be. We believe not in religion, for we know not really what to believe at all. Its idiocy is genius. They are the strangest titles, the nerds, freaks, space- geeks yet the world is already on the high rise to suppose the once perceived lost souls. Now, the nerd is in, now space geek is ‘cooler’ than cool ever was.

  Something was different now... A giant one eye tentacle predator lunges from inside the foreign planet the Quade resides. Thank Christ this is not a hallucination.

  I begin to feel uneasy, eerie vibes flow with the movies distress. Empathy takes hold, but for who? Quade perhaps, or more so and unfortunately the avid predator he fights. It’s worse, the sense of being comfortable then intruded rather already lost and being the intruder, experienced in such sensations leaving no experience to fear. The unfortunate intruder versus the intruded, where do you run if you are already home?

  Laser beams go off from the Quades’ energy pistol. A solid hit detaches the eye tentacle of the beast.

  I’ve had enough and turn the television off. Darkness now grabbing hold of my attention… Darkness all around…

  Quickly now, temper is the card one should not play while on some foreign deity.

  But what to do with these lights...

  I have candles.

  No need now, the walls have taken color, or rather, light...

  Ambient beams strike the outside of my walls, disconnecting them until they show no more. My immediate fear was I would be exposed, alone in a wall-less house tripping on hobo acid.

  But no, the night sky and all its inhabitants did not arise to make the judgement. To my ultimate pleasure of surprise it was sweet, sweet sunshine from a beach I never knew. Without the slightest notion, my posture had shifted to a more relaxed state. I was in a long chair angling towards the ever so blue water. Complete paradise came to mind.