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| Brew (Give this one a read, if you don't any others) by mrs. johnson 08/18/2003, 4:29am PDT | ||||
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| Comments greatly appreciated for this one in particular.
Tim grabs the cordless telephone and throws it out the window. It lands on the cardboard package designed solely to contain exactly three pounds of frozen pizzas. They have been sitting there for a few weeks, slowly becoming inedible. Tim has finally gotten tired of the ceaseless calling from his friends and relatives. He hasn’t left his house in a month or so, living only on boxed rice and beans, which he purchased in bulk right before committing himself to a lonely living. In an expanded attempt to create a large scale isolation tank, Tim ignored the fact that the previously mentioned device works only if the senses are isolated from stimuli. With an uncharacteristic slip up, Tim did not read enough about the isolation tank to understand that the word “isolation†does not refer to an individual existence. He has now been waiting for sever hallucinations, with the shades drawn down day and night, for quite some time. A bit of paranoia is coming on. He is beginning to suspect that his food has been tampered with by the government, in an attempt to any potential hallucinations. Little does Tim know that the date today is October 31st, Halloween, All Hallows Eve, Day of Ghouls, Ghosts and children. Throughout the afternoon, the doorbell has been ringing continuously, and Tim has become slowly more irritated. His suspicions increased, and he spent most of the time standing at the door, staring with a glassy eye at a slightly blown up world. With each miniscule haunter, and some average sized ones as well, wearing a ridiculous costume, Tim would tense up, trying to discern if this was the one that was wearing a wire and a hiding a small gun underneath that Dracula cape. As the sun settled into the comfort of the horizon, the doorbells and visitors tapered off, and for an entire hour, Tim is left alone. At roughly 8 p.m., stumbling through a dark house, Tim falls asleep on his living room couch. Outside, four dope addicts are looking for the last time into the windows. The blinds pretty much give them no view of the inside, and the darkness was no help. For a few weeks, they had been going through rather severe withdrawal from their favorite recreational activity. One of them, Jack “The Hack†Korg, a computer wiz, walked by this house a few times and noticed that the lights were never on in any of the rooms and that nobody ever went in or out. He then got a few of his friends together and they formed a plan. They would come here on Halloween, when it wouldn’t be suspicious to be wearing masks, and would rob the place. Then the four of them would trade the stuff to their dealer and be set for at least a couple of weeks. They are each in their early twenties, and excitable as rabbits. Tommy “Reed†Breakfast, wearing a classic Scream mask, and sweating profusely about the face, approaches the door calmly and jams the crowbar into it after a few glances to each side. He then pulls with all his might and is surprised as the door gives in. He motions to his accomplices, and all four enter the house, closing the door behind them. Tim hears the crack, but does so while half asleep. The noise entered whatever remains of a dream still occupy his mind and starts to echo severely. Finally, thinks Tim, I’m hallucinating. He is fully awake and greets the four startled youths with a smile. By now, they have taken off the stifling masks and have begun to salivate profusely at the thought of the high that they would soon experience. Tim stands up with authority and begins to closely examine what he believes to be products of his delusional mind. Even though his eyes have adjusted to the dark quite well over the past month, he still cannot make out their facial features. Tim considers turning on the lights, but is afraid that the hallucinations will not remain. To the four shabbily dressed boys, Tim looks like a specter, darting around in the darkness. None of them move, frozen by the unexpected life inside the seemingly dead house. With an erratically beating heart, Tim attempts to control the hallucinations. First as he would control his arms, with slightly unconscious impulse signals. He fails. Then with direct thought. You, he thinks, over there, raise your left arm. Nothing. He sits down and tries to think of a way to make these delusions a bit more interesting. “What do we do?†Asks Harry “Broilmoney†Augustus in a humble voice. “Aha!†Screams Tim, “So that’s how it is. I have to talk to you! No problem. You, the one holding the sack, raise your left arm!†Tim is back up now and has folded his arms triumphantly. The one he has pointed to, Brian “The Butler†Steward raises his arm in surprise, but Tommy immediately grabs it and shoves it back to Brian’s side. He then pulls out a gun. “Jesus Christmas, Tommy, where the hell did you get that?†Jack asks. Brian says nothing, as is expected of him and stands quietly in the back trying to remember his birth, his latest long term project. “My dad has a gun cabinet and I found out where he kept the key when I was twelve. I figured it might be useful just in case.†“Did you consider the fact that if we are arrested with a gun, everything will be much much worse?†Harry once again asks a question nobody is willing to answer. Brian politely giggles in the back. Tim is listening to this conversation and is slightly amused. He grabs the gun out of Tommy’s hand and looks it over before Tommy can react in any manner. “Wow, it feels so real. I’ve never seen this before; I wonder how my mind created it to look like this.†He flashes a dark smile at the four stunned youths. He points the gun at his kitchen and tries to shoot. Only a few clicking sounds are heard. “Hey, are there bullets in this thing? You figure I would have hallucinated some bullets.†“You stupid bastard. You didn’t even bring bullets.†Jack speaks angrily. â€Shut the fuck up, man. It was just for intimidation. There wasn’t even supposed to be anyone in here. That’s what you said, isn’t it?†“Uh fellas, maybe we should leave?†Harry is ignored. “It was empty! This guy hasn’t left here in weeks, that’s why he’s fucking nuts.†Jack is indignant. “Alright, let’s think about this. If we rob the guy, he won’t call the cops. He thinks we’re imaginary.†Tommy is still focused on the robbery. Another giggle slashes the silence. “I say we take him with us, blindfolded, and… and then we tell him a lot of shit to confuse the hell out of him. Then we just leave him in front of the hospital. He still hasn’t really seen our faces. We might even be able to take him hostage and ask his family for money.†There is a vast silence. Tim chuckles. “Wow. So devious. I didn’t know I had it in me.†Tommy grabs the sack and pulls it over Tim’s head. He yells, “Oh shit, I’m blind! This better not be fucking permanent. I need to get to a doctor.†He then begins to walk in away from the robbers, and stumbles into a wall, head first. He falls down, dazed. “Help me pick him up.†Tommy, Jack and Harry pick him up and begin to carry him to the car, while Brian nervously closes the door behind them. Once in the car, Jack says “Wait a minute; we didn’t even rob the place.†“Maybe we should just leave the guy here and get the hell out?†Harry asks. “Fuck that, fuck the robbing, we can do it anytime. Let’s just get him back to my apartment. Drive.†Tommy assumes authority, while Tim mumbles something about quasi-emotional inadequacies. The car peels out and they drive away, as quickly as possible. Harry asks another question. “Can he breathe?†Silence. Jack grabs the sack off Tim’s head and rips it into a few lengthy shreds. He then ties one around Tim’s eyes. “Better?†Jack is visibly irritated. “Yeah.†Harry sounds tired and completely unprepared for a kidnapping. Tim wonders out loud if elephants are color blind. Tommy sighs. Time passes, planets race at incredible speeds around solar systems. Solar systems go even faster within galaxies. And galaxies…? Well, who the hell knows? We could all be flying at such incredible speeds through the universe that if we were to experience such flight unprotected by the atmosphere and the like, we would be liquefied into something that would resemble a mix of pudding and sawdust, eternally reassembling itself into ever smaller life forms, spiraling into infinity, reproducing and rewriting itself as the longest sentence to ever pass through any significance assigning mind. Yours, maybe, but only if you’re really lucky. Regardless, we look back at the five amigos, four of whom are day dreaming of wonderful powders and liquids, and one of whom is convinced that his reality isn’t real, his hallucinations are important, and his life is about to gain some meaning. Back at Tommy’s apartment, the four handsome young fellows sit in a semicircle on the floor around Tim, who is lying on a slightly scuffed black couch, bound hand and foot, with a cover on his face. What he is beginning to experience now, funnily enough, are real hallucinations. Quite a number of hours without food or drink and complete visual deprivation have created for Tim the ideal environment for a vision quest. The external conversations about kidnapping and ominous car noises were already assumed to be hallucinations, so Tim’s senses were sending these received signals into the part of the brain, if it was a hospital, where the brooms would be held. So, Tim is now looking into the bright, sunshiny face of his own personal spirit guide. The druggie quartet is listening, and luckily for them, Tim is acting out both sides of the conversation in clearly different voices. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you so long.†Tim’s ordinary voice. He sounds happy and excited. A deep voice emerges from Tim’s general direction. “How do you feel about cinema?†The walls of the apartment are white and dimly lit, and the only other piece of furniture in the room is an ash tray. The windows are open and a slight breeze is tousling Harry’s long hair. “Um. I enjoy it. That isn’t the point. I need your help. I am afraid of death, and I am lonely.†“Are you afraid of death or the lack of experiences after death?†The deep voice is authoritative and direct. “Hey you’re right! I’m just addicted to life. Well, huh. Anyway that can stop?†Tim sounds hopeful. “Yes. Learn to appreciate a significant death. That is why I asked if you liked cinema. By watching the certain movies, you will discover how death can be meaningful. The only problem is, it will be meaningful to others and not to you. Do not worry about that. As you float, bleeding down an icy river, all you must do is imagine music that compliments your descent from life. Then you shall feel something other than fear. This is effective if you understand that you will soon die. If you do not see it coming, then life will be extinguished before you get a chance to think about it. Now you are lonely?†Four pairs of eyes glaze over. “Yes! I thought that I could find solace with a permanent female companion, but I discovered that love fades. Which makes me upset.†“Why don’t you keep finding more partners? Do you want some sort of interior connection? Beyond words?†“Yes.†“I am afraid that is not possible. Your only tool of communication is language, spoken and otherwise. To form a strong mental bond with someone you will have to force them to experience a large portion of your life, which is generally impossible, given current technological advances. You should settle for multiple partners and friendships.†“This makes me sad. I want something I can never have. How do I deal with that?†Tim unknowingly urinates in his pants. Brian nudges Tommy and points at the wet spot that is currently conquering Tim’s pants. Tommy swears loudly. “Acceptance is lengthy and difficult. I must leave now. Enjoy these rhythmic visions.†Silence follows. Suddenly, Tim lets out a lengthy whooping noise. He is smiling, completely oblivious to Tommy, who is placing a bag under his buttocks. The four retire to the bedroom to confer. There is a mattress on the floor, and a heater that is working entirely too well for such a mild autumn. “What do we do with him?†Harry asks. “There was no wallet on him, and we don’t know his name. How are we supposed to contact his relatives and ask for a ransom if we don’t know who they are?†Jack is angry. From the other room comes shouting, “Did you know that George Orwell wrote poetry? He did! Listen to a stanza: ‘But born, alas, in an evil time, I missed that pleasant haven, For the hair has grown on my upper lip And the clergy are all clean-shaven.’ Isn’t it great?†“Jesus Crust.†Says Brian, and sniggers at the near blasphemy. A short, silence follows. Harry collapses and begins snoring. Tommy sighs quietly and attempts to find a solution. Jack, after thirty seconds or so, suggests, “Why don’t we just take him back now? Wait until he’s asleep and then take off the blind fold? He will probably think that he broke the door himself while hallucinating.†Tommy looks skeptical, “But we need money. That’s why we brought him here in the first place.†“We can get it somewhere else, or we can go a bit more without dope, I mean it does hurt like a bastard, but maybe it’s time we quit anyway and finished college.†“I am in no condition to be finishing anything.†Tommy stands up. “But you might be right.†By this time, Brian is asleep right next to Harry. “Come on, let’s you and I take him home.†The two lads pick up Tim, who is still reciting obscure poetry by science fiction authors, and carry him to the car. The streets are empty, silent. The eve of evil has come and passed, parents have already fussed over probabilities of razors in apples, and children gorged themselves unhealthily, without any regret. Pure, focused, unselfish greed. Just a rarity to see that sort of thing in an adult. The local college radio is playing a droning guitar solo that seems to last throughout the entire car ride, with notes that sound hauntingly like they belong in an old Western movie. The windows are down, and Tim is stingingly softly in the back seat about Brillo pad pudding and explosives. The car is parked; the men drag Tim out and carry him into the house. It is still dark and gloomy inside, but they are too exhausted to be afraid. Tim has fallen asleep, so they take off his blind fold, clean him off a bit, and throw him in the shower. Tommy even makes a sandwich and puts in the fridge. Jack leaves a glass of water on Tim’s bed stand. Together, they wash the dishes in the dark, one wetting and the other one drying. Jack briefly considers mopping the floor, but Tommy changes his mind and the boys leave, closing the door behind them. Upstairs, Tim lays in the dark, unaware, uncaring and a bit happier than he was twenty four hours ago. the mrs. |
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