“Hello, Jim... I’m glad you could make it.”
No... Surely not!
“Yes Jim, it’s me.”
SIX
He looked frail and as timid as one gets. I do not enjoy this role I must play, to torture the soul of one I should love. But alas, I must.
“Yes Jim, it’s me.”
His eyes shot open and I could see the blackness in his pupils. He should not be here, not like this.
He began to grumble as he put words together.
“You, you left me... Those horrible things you said. Are you real? What game is this?”
“No Jim, I’m not real. But I can be if you help me.”
“... What do you mean? How do I make you real?”
“You need to write Jim, make me real with your thoughts, your memories and most importantly your words.”
“My words?”
“We’re running out of time Jim, please, I need you to write off this place.”
I could feel my presence fading. No earthbound chemical could keep one is such a place and now I watched again as I crushed the heart of my fictitious lover.
“Wait, no, where are you going? What is this place?”
I smiled, this time sincere.
“My love, it is your job to know.”
SEVEN
And just like that, she was gone. I fell back, gravity turning back on and worst of all I was back home. The lights had yet been turned on however I was no longer at the mercy of the hobo acid. The dark did not keep any ominous presence to which did not exist. It was my thoughts, dreadful, perplexed but unimaginably motivating.
I knew then what I must do, my body knew exactly what to do.
I jumped with an energy I knew not existed within my fragile limbs, mind over matter truly sparked its law.
First was first, light. That was easy; fire does wonders. Get some heat in this frigid prison.
I then set myself up in the furthest chamber of the house. By the window, a pleasant enough scene emerged in the near distance. A river lurked, confided by mud which would disturb its otherwise majestic view. All the same, it added character to this place, this realm I called home. As well it seemed appropriate to the mood.
Ink? check. Paper? enough for tonight. To my right a beer had been sliced open, aside from the moonlight which aided my vision, remnants of a single candle pervaded my escape.
The keys began to hit paper, no more hesitation but pure punctuation.
‘My name is Jim Welsh, Jonathon Patrick Welsh...’
Chapter Three
Detachment
The days had gone by like minutes to the sane. Yes, I was losing my mind; but to what inheritor. I have developed a story, an answer to all the guilt, all the shame of my life. I have yet to give him a name, but he is an entity most intelligent, most divine than anything I have ever written. He will be the conspirator to the normal man. With him my plots will be understood, with his help my stories will take on a new life. His presence and influence alone will carry through these passengers, transport them to a realm they otherwise wouldn`t believe to exist.
The keys type frantically and I adore their sound. The thought itself of ink hitting paper drives my wildest unborn desires.
Here, anything is possible. With mere sheets of paper and hot liquid tar, I will construct a name, an affirmation of my existence. Yes, world, I am here. Fortune favors the wary, all it takes it one story, the right story to change the world.
But what is it then, what trick of the mind, what play on words or twist of the plot will make what I have to say worth listening to. Such subtleties play an important role in considering leading the life of a writer. At this point, I really haven`t a choice. All the same, I am bound to my investment, signed to a law that states my time is anything but worthless. This law may be one of delusion, but I follow it none the less. With these words, the ones I know I will make myself an individual and not merely another fragrance of mankind to pass away in the evolutionary chain.
What does it all mean I would ask myself? My hallucinations, visions, theories and objectives, do they speak the truth when they tell me the working I should not know. Why only in my dreams, in my nearby unconsciousness does the one true thing I desire, nay, the one true reality I bequest; Sweet Claire. Why does she evade me in reality yet consume my subconscious? Does she want me, or the writer in me? Or does she simply desire the want for her to want me...
A shame is for any proud person of what they do to admit it was all for a girl. Fortunately, during my younger years, I was more at ease and books I did feel the time to read. The words of Carl Jung spoke truly, and very much so specifically. He who had learned from the father of mind; he would agree upon women, sex, they hold significant roles in the anatomy of the human mind, more specifically- art. It is nothing to be ashamed of, so I gather, however by the end of all things becomes irrelevant.
It was for such purposes I decided it best not to write or speak of my beloved but to transform into something far worse. What tragedies behold man when not of romance? Surely there are such troubles, however, it becomes unfortunate only the most delusional or apocalyptic of scenarios remain the only form of mind to which a man worries not of the opposite sex... I suppose in that perspective women become what keeps us sane. Then again, what would keep them sane?
Frantic tics and tacks as if the keys themselves amuse a rhythm. Always drunk, always stoned, always high; I remain under the dark influence of my characters and the drugs that created them. What now would I do, now having wonder as I finished the last of my ribbon? What now would I do, having to face that ruthless society I call fellow man. I need smokes, I need whiskey. I have met some unruly characters since the beginning of this mission. From them I need, I will buy unbound chemicals since my youth. There’s no holding back anymore, I must complete the story. I must do it now and it must be great!
For you Claire, I will transform into that which should have always been, and with that power, we will have everything we could ever imagine.
...
The ink was now dry, my last smoke smoked. An expedition was due to be had.
I left the room with still an hour to daylight. Plenty to walk to where I needed to go… I left my chamber, more for writing than sleeping it seemed.
The sun was still shinning and was to comfort my walk. An easy laid-back day I would imagine. There had been a lot of them, when I wasn’t writing I would just as soon think of just this state of being rather the grim reality. This was by far where I wanted to be.
She was there, at the end of the tunnel. All I needed was to keep going, to get the job done. All it takes is on, lovely bunch of words to influence the minds of thousands and with it, utopia would be found.
It was all for you sweet Claire that I would vanquish my own identity in hopes of being reborn into something you could not live without.
Down the streets I went, downtown to a bar to meet a dealer. The office, despite its stringent atmosphere, did provide its opportunities. It was the least conspicuous place I could find for a man my age. For that, I stuck true to its business.
Bev was his name, Bev the chemist so I was told. Nothing too pleasing about the man himself, he was true to his word and that was all one needed to progress in the small game of illicit drugs. I’d be lying if I didn’t say there was something tragic but familiar about his accomplice in crime. His women for as far as I could gather were far too righteous to be with such scum like himself. Not that it would cause much concern for an occupied man as me, that particular circumstance rang something strange but true within my core.
TWO
She awoke silently, and with that discretion remained where she lay. There was still another two hours at least before she would need to get up. The ill-mannered temperamental boyfriend whom mothers house they did reside left Silga far less motivated to confront her day.
Silga you useless lazy
piece of shit get out of bed, we’re expecting company?
Nothing worse than a choice made for you by someone else…
With whatever benevolent sixth sense Bev appeared to have he knew she was awake. Thoughts rolled around, contempt made an eerie presence and then left just as swiftly. No remark would make it better, no comment or slice of wit? Silga knew by now better than ever that there are just some people too far gone in their own little world to understand any sense of reason.
All the same, his mother had done quite well while a young woman. Being a successful mortgage broker she coined out and did her bit in the ever-expanding real estate market.
It was far more than her parents had provided. She would stay for as bad as Bev was she knew there was always worse off.
“Silga I’m not going to tell you again, get your ass out here!”
The doorbell rang.
THREE
I was itching, itching for my does and to be back home away from these animals. Such waste, I would think when I come here as I would surely think now.
The door opens. A fragile elderly Women answers the door, aged more in mileage than years. Time had not been kind; I knew this for certain as she stared me up and down in complete bewilderment.
Yes; people with houses have guests, now let me to your son so I can buy some mind-bending narcotics and I’ll be on my way!
“Evening Mrs. Belfast… A beautiful day is it not?”
Timid grumbling as she clears her decaying throat.
“Y-yes um, Merry Christmas to you fine sir. Are you looking for Christopher?”
Christopher? HAH, the old bat doesn’t remember her- own sons’ name.
“Yes that’s right; I’m here to see Christopher.”
Mom! Get the hell out of there; you know I told you not to answer the fucking door!
Finally, Bev comes to my aid.
A slight kick as she makes her exit. Like I said… They’re fucking animals.
“G’day sir, come on in.”
As we made our way to the basement of Bev’s cozy home I decided to make small talk. Not because I cared about anything such as social courtesy but merely because of it almost comedic how irrelevant it is considering.
“So how is the old lady these days, still looking limber as ever from what I can tell?”
Bev stared at me long and hard, I regretted my choice of worse and their intent. He was a much younger lad, fit and most likely already knocked up on whatever he’s selling.
“Her days are numbered, fucking cow.”
Silence for a moment. I know now I must get out of this dark place as fast as possible before these creatures ruin my day.
“What will it be then, Jimmy boy.”
I began to answer, prior to words making form I was stopped. Out of seemingly nowhere and without any sense of timing a young lady made her way into the main flat. She was still in morning dress, a long t-shirt. I hoped for my sake there was more.
“Yes um, what’s on the menu than?”
“Depends what you’re after, if it’s action, focus and acute sense of attention I’ve got blue brick ice speed. Energy? E- static Buddha or purple Mervin purvin.”
“I’m looking for perceptibility.”
Bev looked confused.
“I see, well Mr. Welsh I have just the thing. In fact, if it’s mind expansion you’re looking you couldn’t have come to a better place.”
“Do pray tell?”
I lost track of his mindless words. No more now, I observe the brunette in the long purple t-shirt. She played on reading her book as if neither of us existed.
“What will it be then?’
“Oh, what was the last one you said?”
“Pandora and fourth dimension. Good blotter, full supply.”
“Yes, I’ll take two of each.”
“Right, Silga! What I fuckin’ tell you about being so lazy, two Pandora and two fourth Dimensions’... Did you get that?
I could not take it anymore, out of nowhere and completely out of character I retorted for her;
Listen, friend, the lady was reading a book. Take it easy won’t you there’s no need for that shit, it’s the twenty-first century for Christ sake!
FOUR
An odd turn of events to say the least... Silga watched in bewilderment at this statement by Jim who had finally defended her. Bev was having none of it. He had a gun nearby; it wasn’t loaded but as result scared the shit out him.
After his departure, Bev had a laugh about it. He would laugh for an hour after until his next customer tell the story than carrying on a state of mania.
FIVE
Fucking lunatic! CUNT! Who the fuck carries a gun, guys like fuckin’ five years younger than me! Fucking ridiculous, this whole city...
It became moments like these that Jim would appreciate not owning a vehicle. The walk slowed his anger, his frustration. What had come over him? It was not like him to stir things up such as so. He already knew well the dreary nature of man. Like walking on eggshells, the lot of them, fucking wankers!
The store soon came near as he made way to home. Smokes; a cigarette was well needed. As Jim entered the store he could already be recognized the clerk or his type anyways. We all need a job and have one at some point of our life that displeased us, but these fuckers are moronic. Gotta ruin the day for every punter that makes his way into contact with them!
“Pack of smokes please.”
Long gasp into sigh; this was what I was talking about...
“Sir, what kind of smokes do you want?”
“Canadian classics...”
Another sigh...
“Yes, what kind of Canadian classics do you want?”
“What the fuck do you mean? I want a god damn pack of smokes!”
... Shit, not again.
“Excuse me, sir, please calm down and tell me what kind of smokes you would like.”
“How fucking complicated can it be, Canadian packet, twenty-five lovely white tailored soldiers of fucking torture. Do you speak English in that fucking idiot of a world you call the mind?”
There was no reply; he was on the phone.
SIX
Static- Unit 322 we have a disturbance over at the handis convenience store by king street. Can you check it out? Over.
Static- Unit 322, officer Nixon here. On my way, over.
SEVEN
I knew I was fucked, but I wasn’t angry.
“How long before the cops get here?”
His stare I knew was calm only for the hopes of disturbing me further. There always out to fucking get me, this whole fucking city.
The bells from the door go off.
“Excuse me, sir, is there a problem?”
I drop my head, here we go again. Before I could say anything the clerk was hot into action.
This man, he would not specify his genre of smokes. When I politely asked him to repeat, he got upset and then violent...
“Sir, is this true?”
“Yes, every word.”
I turn my head to the officer’s gaze, to my horror it happened again. There I was, sober as a judge and starring at the mirror image of myself again, I- the fucking law!
“No Jesus, stay back you filthy swine!”
I lunged forward, plunged the officer into the glass. My weak, malnourished frame did not lead to much harm. The surprise had taken him back a step or two and I made my escape.
I`m running, running faster than I have ever run before… The whole world was spinning, shape-shifting as if a three-dimensional video game. Was I a game? Was my whole life just another round of sixty- four? If so, who was at the controls...?
Ah, who cares! It was inhuman how fast I was now running; signs and cars were being passed with ease and before I knew it I was almost home.
Finally inside the safety of my walls I make haste into my bedroom.
While inside I shut the door and quickly set up my typewriter before the sun would fall.
It’s all going down, everything coming apart. I used to think this a pleasant city, but now everything had changed. Is this what they prophesized? The coming of the apocalypse... Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a meteorite or any wrath of some god. Maybe this is what it is, an apocalypse of the mind. How they would for tell such a thing is beyond me, or maybe it was the prediction itself that has caused it... All I did know was that it was happening, and it was starting here at Harpers Lane.
EIGHT
That fucking lunatic again...
“Aren’t you going to go after him?”
“There’s no rush, I know where he lives. Gimme a pack of smokes.”
The clerk looked bewildered, then asked; “what kind?”
“Canadian classics, king size.”
What a pleasant drive it was, I should try this smoking more often. Really is not as bad as it’s cracked up to be.
The drive was short, done before the smoke he had lit from the store. There was no knocking, the door booted down. Upon entering officer Nixon began to shout between hauls from his smoke
“Alright you crazy son of a bitch, I’m coming for ya!”
NINE
What was once a home of subtle beauties had now become something insidious. He’s after me, whoever it is. I can feel his presence making way, the walls are falling down the wood floors below my feet crackling as I’m pulled across them. I knew where I was going, purgatory and damnation. It was time to tally up, even myself out for all the treacherous thoughts I had so carelessly put into words.
Outside now, I can see the sun shedding its final goodbyes. I was leaving this place... Would I ever come back? I must, there is much work to be done! I am on a mission, visions have told me of the coming events. I must make you real, Claire, even if it costs me this world.
Apocalypse at Harpers Lane Page 12