#no comment oh the chairs I know that’s a man’s house rf

[iwatcheditbegin]

This looks like a fun watch party

[ecotone99]

[RF] Vomit - a short story about a descent into a rabbit hole of drugs

(a repost after bot-moderator removed the original post on the spurious grounds that the story was less than 500 words, and cut out 2nd half of the story)

Theo returned from work at seven in the evening. It was still sunny. The heat was warm and caressed his skin as he sat on the porch of his parents’ house. It was no longer the oppressive heat of the midday. It was Friday evening, the beginning of weekend. The construction work that week had been gruelling, and Theo was going out as he did every weekend, to seek powerful stimuli that will make him forget about his mind-numbing daily reality.

He got a text message from Darius, a coworker whom he suspected of being on the psychopathic spectrum. That man is best avoided, thought Theo, but earlier that day he had a violent confrontation at work, and Darius had his back. They needed to discuss what happened. Darius was coming to pick him up in fifteen minutes.

Theo walked back into the house to put on his party clothes. He put on his gold chain, styled his hair, and put on his cologne. His parents were yelling at each other as usual, and his young siblings were screaming around the house. His mother asked him where he was going and he said “out”, and rushed out the door.

There was an old Mercedes waiting for him in front of the driveway. Darius sat and smiled in the passenger seat, and Theo got in the back.

- This is my cousin Marco, Darius introduced the driver.

Creepy looks seemed to run in their family. Marco was even paler and more bug-eyed than Darius. Darius always looked somewhat sweaty and oily, and showed a small range of emotions on his face. It was proof that he was subject to physiological processes of ordinary humans. His cousin Marco on the other hand looked like a vampire. His face was deathly pale, and dry, and it showed no emotion whatsoever.

- Marco’s got a sweet condo downtown. Want to join us there and party? said Darius. He’s got a DJ set and everything.

- Sounds good man, said Theo.

Darius then produced a massive bag of marijuana and started to roll a joint. He passed the bag to Theo so he can roll his own. It was a day of plenty. Darius also produced a tub of hemp oil. Theo had never seen such a thing before.

- That’s going to give you a massive kick, said Darius. You smudge some on the zigzags.

Sure enough the weed was powerful. The three men took the long route and drove slowly towards downtown. The sun was setting and Marco was playing reggae, which matched and enhanced the high of marijuana.

- So what do you do for a living, Marco? asked Theo.

- I’m a property manager, answered Marco.

- And his hobby is marijuana, as you can see, hehe, said Darius. He’s got some sweet connections, don’t you cousin?

- Let’s just say I know some very important people, said Marco.

- Cool, which properties? asked Theo again.

- Several high rises downtown.

- We are actually making a quick detour to one of them, said Darius, then we will head back to Spaulding Avenue to the condo.

- Oh, you got some work to do man? said Theo, just drop us off at the club district.

- It’s a quick drop-off, don’t worry, explained Darius.

At some point Marco got a call from his girlfriend. Theo was surprised that Marco had a girlfriend, or that he was capable of any form of intimacy whatsoever. The woman seemed to complain about losing her keys, or some other household item. Marco remained cold as ice, but his words were incredibly abusive.

- Well honey, you are such a damned retard. What exactly is the use of having you in the house? You never clean the house. You live like a pig. It’s always cluttered, and there’s no wonder you lose stuff all the time. Maybe don’t be such a stupid pig next time.

They pulled up to a run down condominium for the drop off. They were in the middle of the projects. A young man in a sports hoodie walked over to the car and leaned into the passenger window. He seemed restless, as he was constantly rocking back and forth. Darius pulled a plastic-wrapped rectangular package out of the glove compartment and handed it to the man, who quickly slipped it under his grey hoodie and disappeared.

As they drove off, Marco finally initiated a conversation.

- Darius told me you had a scuffle with Larry today. That was hilarious. I can just imagine Larry’s face when he saw that kid all bloodied up. And the dead dog, haha.

- Wait, you know the plaza owner? The guy with the ponytail? asked Theo.

- Oh, of course. I manage half his properties. Listen, you guys got nothing to worry about. The matter has already been resolved. Larry stepped over the line. He is like that, he will test you and try to squeeze you as much as he can. But if he sees that you can’t be squeezed, he’s reasonable.

- Good to know! said Theo. He was surprised and he began to piece it all together.

- Yeah man, said Darius, we got bikers on our side, thanks to Marco. Larry won’t do a thing.

They finally arrived to the condo. It was in a high-end building. They arrived to an empty apartment with a beautiful balcony view. But the apartment was empty inside, except a large mattress on the floor and a DJ set with two speakers size of chairs. There were already people inside. Two guys were sprawled on the mattress, dysfunctionally high. A third man was spinning on the DJ set and listening to the music on headphones.

The new arrivals settled in and Marco took over the DJ set. He started blasting reggae on the speakers so loud that Theo could hardly talk to anyone.

- It’s a sick system, someone told Marco.

- It is, but the stupid neighbours complain about it all the time.

- You have to play reggae loud in order to properly enjoy it, said Darius, smiling.

At some point Marco approached Theo and started a conversation with him. He didn’t really make eye contact, and he talked slow.

- Darius told me what you did today. You got balls, and you got brains. That’s rare.

- Thanks.

- I don’t know why you do that job with that grouchy grandpa, what’s his name? It’s a gutter job, and you have a gutter boss. You are too good for that.

- I hate that job, man, said Theo. Thinking of his past experiences on the job, and imagining the prospect of it going on indefinitely, his stoned mind filled with terror.

- If you want to make some real money, you talk to me. I can get you in the property management, you know what I mean?

- I know what you mean.

- Think about it. You don’t want to be on the bottom of the system.

Marco then went on a tangent about the system. Speaking from his personal experience, he explained how all the judges are corrupt and hypocritical. He ended up in some legal trouble for doing what he does, and they took him down just so they can have their own people do the same thing. There is no justice out there. There is no right and wrong. There is only loyalty.

Suddenly, one of the recreational drug users began to convulse on the mattress. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he started foaming at his mouth. His lips turned blue.

- He swallowed his tongue, pull his tongue out, said Marco. The music was still blaring.

Marco knelt next to the guy and stuck his fingers in his throat. He pulled out the man’s tongue, and the man vomited on the carpet immediately after.

- Give him some water! said Marco. Someone brought a glass from the kitchen.

In about five minutes the man had regained his wits. Once it was clear that he would not die, Marco worked himself up into a rage.

- You damned junky! Don’t you have any self-control? Last thing I need right now is a dead body in my goddamn apartment. Who brought this asshole? Lawrence, did you bring this bitch?

Lawrence said nothing. Marco slapped the junky on the back of the head.

- Hello? What’s your name? What did you take?

- I’m sorry man, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened there.

- Sorry? You better get your ass up and clean that pile of puke off my carpet! Before we all start barfing from the stink.

The junky said he’d do it. He got up to find some rags in the kitchen, but suddenly rushed towards the exit door, grabbed his shoes in his hands, and tried to get out. The door was locked and he couldn’t figure out how to open it on time. Marco caught up to him, threw him on the ground and began kicking him and cursing. The junky had no choice, he went back to the kitchen slowly this time and found a rug and a roll of pepper towels and a bucket, and begun cleaning his mess.

Everyone��s buzz was beginning to clear off. Theo’s phone started ringing. It was his mom. He went out onto the balcony.

- Honey, where are you? Are you going to come back soon? Please come back soon, okay?

Theo hung up and went back inside. He said bye to everyone and went back home by public transport. As he sat in the back of an empty bus and looked on outside, he had one thought that came back to him over and over again.

- I need to get out of here. I need to go back to school, or something, anything, but I need to get out of here.

submitted by /u/george_boreas [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3lgh6YF

[ecotone99]

Memories [RF]

I put the kettle on to boil, as I do every morning, and got a tea bag out of the cupboard. I found some milk in the fridge and made myself a cup of tea. I have started my day with a cup of tea for over 50 years. It used to be a rushed cup in the morning before work, then when I retired it became a lazy cup in bed, delivered to me alongside breakfast by my husband, Reg. Now I make it myself and often sit down to drink it in front of the telly. This morning however, the sun was shining and so I decided to drink my tea outside.

I sat on my patio in my nightdress and looked out over the garden. It wasn’t as warm as I had thought it would be, given how sunny it was, but I thought I’d be all right while I drank my tea. I'd put something warmer on after my shower. Reg was the green fingered one really, and although I tried my best you could tell that the garden was missing him. I thought about Reg, and the garden, and I sipped my tea.

URGH! It was horrid! I’d used one of Jenny’s bloody camomile tea bags. Why does she put them in that silly cupboard, why can’t she put them somewhere else? I swear she does it on purpose, she knows it confuses me. I have always kept my tea bags in that cupboard and I have never drunk camomile so why does she need to put hers in there? Can’t she bring them with her when she comes over?

I was still muttering to myself about the silly tea bags when the phone rang. I went inside to answer it.

“Hi Mummy.” Said Jenny.

“Oh hello dear” I said, “are you alright?”

“Yes thank you Mummy. Have you remembered we are going for lunch today? I have sent a taxi to pick you up at 11:30.”

Hmm. I hadn’t remembered, but there was a note on the side table saying Lunch, Jenny, Weds 11:30 so she must have told me before.

“Of course!” I lied “But I really don’t need a taxi, I can walk into town fine.”

Jenny sighed down the phone.

“I know you can walk, but remember last time?”

I did not remember last time. Was it the time we went for cream tea at the hotel? Or that time I had quiche at the cafe? It didn’t really matter, my legs worked fine, I could walk.

“No, but, I can walk. It’s only ten minutes.”

Another sigh.

“Mummy, please just wait for the taxi. I’ll see you at lunch.” And with that she put down the telephone.

I really did not need a taxi. I know I have been a little forgetful lately, but I knew how to get into town. For goodness sake, I’ve lived in the same town my whole life!

I went upstairs to get ready. I brushed my teeth and had a quick shower to freshen up. Standing in my bedroom and looking out over the garden, I could see that it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. I decided to put on one of my summer dresses and a thin cardigan, I didn’t want to be too hot. I put on a little mascara and cleaned my teeth. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I thought I looked quite pretty, for 68 at least.

The doorbell rang and interrupted my thoughts. I went downstairs and opened it to see a smiling, bright faced, young chap standing on my front step.

“Hi Nancy, you ready?” he said.

“Ready for what?” I enquired.

Who was this young man and why was he talking like he knew me?

“To take you into town for lunch with Jenny.” He said.

“Well why can’t Jenny pick me up herself? And besides, I can walk. Thank you.” I said.

“Jenny lives on the other side of town Nancy, she sends me to pick you up. Remember?”

I did not remember. I can walk into town! But the young gentleman had me by the elbow and was ushering me towards his car. It had a bright yellow taxi sign stuck to the top of it. Had I ordered a taxi?

I got in the car and the young gentleman switched the radio station from something that I think they call “rap” and Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley started to play.

“Ohh I love this song!” I proclaimed “This was our first dance at our wedding.”

The young gentleman smiled at me in the rear view mirror. I looked out of the window at the houses rushing past and thought of Reg and I dancing on our wedding day. I don’t expect it was much of a show to watch, we weren’t good dancers, but he held me close and sang softly in my ear. We had only known each other for three months before we got married, but just as it was in the song, we couldn’t help falling in love.

The song ended and Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now started.

“Gosh! This one is my favourite!” I said “You know, my husband and I saw Queen play this live. Freddy was just amazing.”

The young gentleman just smiled at me in his mirror.

“What radio station is this please? They have excellent taste in music.” I asked.

He smiled again, “Radio Nancy.” he said, “We’re almost there.”

Radio Nancy? What a bizzare name for a radio station, I wondered if it was founded by a lady called Nancy.

“Sorry, almost where?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little panicky. Who was this man and why was I in his car?

“Almost in town, to meet Jenny. Look, there she is.”

I looked out of the window and saw Jenny standing in a red coat on the side of the pavement about 100 yards ahead. Of course, I was going to meet Jenny. The sun was shining and bouncing off her silky black hair and I wondered why on earth she was wearing such a thick coat on such a fine day.

“Here you are then.” said the man as he got out of the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door for me. Chauffeur service! I could get used to this!

“Hello Mummy” said Jenny and we kissed on the cheeks “Didn’t you bring a coat?” She frowned at me and rubbed my shoulders.

“Why would I need a coat? It’s a perfectly pleasant day.”

“It’s February Mummy, you need a coat because it’s February.”

I suppose it did feel a little chilly…

We went to our favourite cafe and I ordered a coffee and a slice of chocolate cake. Jenny ordered a salad and a glass of water. I really thought she ought to order something a bit more substantial. She was looking a bit under the weather for some reason. The lines in her face seemed deeper and something about her just seemed… older.

“Have you been feeling well?” I asked “ You look a little peaky.”

Jenny looked at me with sadness in her eyes.

“Yes mummy, I’m fine. How are you getting on? Did you have breakfast this morning? You can’t live off chocolate cake alone!”

She smiled with her mouth but I could see that her eyes were still sad. I avoided the question about breakfast.

“Darling” I said, “What’s wrong?”

Jenny sighed and looked at me with those same sad eyes.

“Nothing is wrong mummy.”

I don’t know what I’d done but something I said must have upset her.

That evening I sat in my armchair with a photo album on my lap and flicked through pictures of Jenny’s childhood, when Reg was still alive. I looked at my little Jenny, at her happy, smiling face and then across to Reg’s empty chair. I wished I could go back to that time. I thought of Jenny’s sad face at lunch and thought about when, exactly, it was that I had started to disappoint her so. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact time but I knew what it was.

Recently, little pieces of my life had gone missing. Like a jigsaw with pieces removed, I could feel the outline of what was missing, but I just couldn’t quite remember which part of the puzzle was on them.

I knew what was happening to me, and I knew that it was making Jenny sad too. Every time she met me, she saw a version of her mother that was just a little less complete than the version she had seen before. She was watching me disappear right in front of her eyes. I closed my eyes and felt tears running down my cheeks. I didn’t want to lose the piece of me that remembered Jenny, or the piece that remembered Reg. Right now, I still felt like me, but one day maybe I wouldn’t. Would there be a day when I go for lunch with Jenny and I don’t recognise her?

I picked up the photo album and walked straight out of my front door. I was still in my summer dress and it was bitterly cold in the dark, but I didn’t care. I walked barefoot, down my street and towards the beach. The sand was cold under my toes but I could smell the salty air of the sea and the gentle sound of the waves soothed me. I wandered down the beach, guided by the moonlight until I reached the spot, far down the beach, near the rock pools, where Jenny, Reg and I liked to set up our towels in the summer. I layed down the photo album before removing my summer dress, folding it carefully and placing it next to the photo album.

I thought of Jenny and how much I loved her. I hoped she would understand. I turned and walked into the sea. I kept walking, the cold waves lapping at my knees, taking my breath away as they sloshed over my chest. Still I kept walking. When my feet no longer reached the sea bed I swam. I had always loved the sea, and I enjoyed the peaceful feeling of swimming. I swam and I swam and I swam, with nothing but open sea before me.

Finally, I was exhausted. I turned to see the beach, but in the darkness I could hardly

make it out. My toes and my fingers had gone numb and I was beginning to find it hard to breathe in the cold water, but I was not afraid. I lay on my back and looked up at the stars. I closed my eyes and thought of Reg. We would be together again soon.

submitted by /u/PomonaK [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2Vrv93i

[ecotone99]

[RF] The Cannibal

I am sitting at my desk, alone, surrounded by empty bottles and cigarette smoke. I can feel the start of a headache growing deep within my forehead, so in a futile attempt to distract myself I try glancing through my books picking volumes out at random turning from philosophy to self-help books, from poetry to financial manuals, all to no avail. Eventually, after becoming bored of being bored, I pick up my pen, turn on some music, and start writing. I cast my mind back to sitting outside in the heat, staring at the scenery, and forcing my fingers to type some book review or another that I was meant to be working on. In the distance I hear a car accelerating, then I see Julian’s BMW pulling up in front of me, and I see Tom get out and walk towards me.

“Hey man, can I bum one?” Said Tom sitting down in the chair next to me and running his hands through his hair.

“Sure, why are you in Julian’s car?” I asked handing him a cigarette and my lighter.

“Oh he lent it to me… What are you working on?” He said from in between puffs of smoke.

“It’s nothing important just a review of some book for the magazine.” I said.

“Any good? The book I mean.” He said.

“No. I it’s actually the worst thing they’ve made me read so far. Take a look at this shit.” I said pointing to a black paperback lying on the table. “As far as poetry goes it’s fucking pedantic and that title, The Dark between the Stars, I know that poets are pretentious but… Jesus!”

“Jesus… what do you think happens after people die?” He broke in suddenly, his eyes darting around first from the book, to me, to the car, to other houses, back to me then starting the whole cycle over again.

“Well… I mean… Ok as far as I can tell a priori, from books… It’s impossible to completely do away with the notion of a god as it’s impossible to prove something doesn’t exist. However I do think that all the religions we’ve managed to come up with are wrong, Christianity in particular is nothing more than a bad plagiarism, but probably after we die our brains stop functioning and so do we.” I said.

“Don’t you think that there’s any hope that people, loved ones, that we get to see them again?” He said.

“That right there is one of the worst aspects of religion. You see it plays on our worst anxieties, mines its way into the depths of our mind just because we want to see the people that we like again.” I said.

“Can I ask you something serious then? About life?” Said Tom.

“Life is much too important to talk seriously about. Besides it’s early and I’m far to sober for that kind of discussion.” I said.

“Quoting Oscar Wilde really? How old are you?” He said.

“Hey! I will defend my right to quote Wilde no matter how old I am.” I said.

“Whatever.” He said leaning back and staring out at the suburban expanse in front of the house.

“No come on don’t be like that. What was it?” I said.

“You like the existentialists right? I’ve been around many a late night discussion that you’ve undertaken about them.” He said.

“Yes although I prefer absurdism over existentialism if only because I like Camus more than Sartre.” I said.

“Outline the concept of bad faith for me. No seeing as you like Camus how about the absurd?” He said.

“Well… hang on let me think for a second… ok the main thing that Camus was concerned about was the human desire for meaning in a meaningless world. The Catch-22 of existence, we require purpose to function but no purpose is possible.” I said.

“And when confronted with that proposition what is a person meant to do?” He said.

“If you’re Camus like five chicks at once.” I said, smiling at him as one does when they think that they’ve said something witty but still needs approval on whether or not to laugh.

“NO! Be serious!” He yelled.

“Ok… um faced with the inherent absurdity of the world Camus thinks that we should carry on anyway. To be so free that our very existence is an act of rebellion. Not to suppress any part of yourself.” I said.

“That last part, not suppressing any part of your nature, if say purely hypothetically there was a Cannibal who by his nature had to eat people. By Camus’ logic that Cannibal should be able to eat as many people as he likes despite any ethical dilemmas.” Said Tom.

“I think that you’re talking more about Sartre there, he was more inclined to natures and bad faith and stuff... But yes I would have to admit that based on Camus’ logic the Cannibal would be able to eat as many people as he likes. However based on just human morality, no people shouldn’t eat each other.” I said by now we had become much more animated and relaxed as the conversation progressed. The sun was starting to set.

“Another hypothetical then say there was a man who had a wife and that wife was pregnant. And that man loved his wife, what sort of man wouldn’t love his wife, but that wife decided to leave that man… and ran off to his friend’s house. What should that man have done?” He said.

“I’m not really sure what the point of that one was.” I said, hesitantly.

“Ok… do you remember that play that you read and then couldn’t shut up about for a whole week, Faust? Well I picked up a copy the other day and you were perfectly right about how good it was, there was this one bit that stuck with me. I am the spirit that negates. And rightly so…” He said.

“For all that comes to be deserves to perish wretchedly. Mephistopheles.” I said.

“I killed Grace.” Said Tom. “And Julian. And…”

It is difficult to convey silence in a work of prose. And it is especially difficult to convey the kind of silence Tom and I experienced then. I can’t quite remember what I said next and looking back now I’m not sure what anyone would be able to say next. However I do know that after the silence Tom explained how he had snuck into Julian’s house to find his wife, but instead of talking like he had planned, strangled her. Then he had killed Julian, stole his car and drove here. After such an explanation he pulled out a handgun… on second thoughts I’m not going to write this after all.

submitted by /u/Charles1123 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/32u92tw

[ecotone99]

[RF] Tonic Immobility

The flashlight beams created a bizarre and shifting architecture above the baseball diamond as the search party moved on to the field. “Can we hit the big ones?” Someone yelled, gesturing obliquely at the giant floodlights mounted on poles that loomed in darkness. “You’d have to go into the thing.” Someone else said, gesturing even more vaguely at the commentator’s box couched high beyond the bleachers. “We don’t have the keys.” A third person said helpfully, or maybe unhelpfully, they weren’t sure. Of course they didn’t have the keys. They weren’t even supposed to be here. Circles of light moved over the hundreds of empty seats, disentangling themselves and following individual attentions of their owners. The grass was flat, and as far as anyone could see, empty, so the search had moved on to the hulking architecture of Sunstone Park ​ The search party, five men and two women, spread out slightly, forming a loose constellation of flashlights. ​ “Can we go up there? Could he have gone up there?” One of the women said, staring up at the bleachers. “No, there’s cameras. It’s trespassing. Rick! Rick! Rick!” A man said, yelling into the darkness. “Rick you motherfucker!” All of them were dirty and a little out of breath from having climbed over the gate. The gate itself had appeared easy enough to get over from the outside, but it hadn’t been obvious that it was covered in some kind of weird greasy stuff. ​ The first of the group to jump the fence had done so impulsively in four easy movements; jump, grab, plant, pull, and bam, he was on the other side. He’d done it so slickly and with such ease that the rest fo the group had felt a certain pressure to follow. He had felt even more pressure, having just looked very cool, to say nothing about how he was now covered in the unidentifiable greasy stuff. Oil? Why would someone hose down a gate with oil? Maybe it was dew? Mixed with rust? From the gate? ​ It was 4:14 AM. ​ “Rick!” The shorter woman called out, at a dug out. “Rick are you in there?” The flashlight showed only an empty bench and a few discarded water bottles. “Do they have ears?” One of the men said, quietly. He’d actually said it on accident, just something that popped into his head, and it had come out in a weird squeaky voice. “What?” The taller woman said, assuming she hadn’t heard him properly. She had. He didn’t repeat himself, and instead tried to look very interested up at the bleachers. “What?” She said again. “Does Rick have ears?” The man said, now maybe too confident, in an annoyed tone to show that actually he HAD intended to ask the question and MAYBE he even ALREADY knew the answer. The woman looked annoyed for a moment, but then her face fell. “Actually I don’t know.” The man simultaneously felt vindicated and ashamed. He wasn’t sure how to continue, so instead of responding, he purposefully redirected his flashlight over at Left Field, and now endeavoured to look even MORE interested, perhaps the MOST interested he’d ever been in anything. ​ “Rick!” The man who’d jumped the gate yelled, once more leading the group. He had gone over to behind home-plate, and was trying the smaller steel doors that led up to the bleachers. They were locked, but the first time he tried them they didn’t make any kind of noise, so he made a big show of yanking them and shaking the handles. “They’re locked!” He said loudly, as though talking to himself, but really, this was more for everyone else. “Fuck!” This was also for everyone else. “We could jump it.” Someone suggested. “There or there or there.” They showed where with their flashlight, but really, they could jump into the bleachers from almost anywhere. They were not high up from the field at all, and if they’d made the gate, they could certainly make this. ​ But now, spread out, twenty minutes into the search, the group’s individual members had started to diverge in their emotions about the hunt for Rick. This had started as a chase, after all. ​ Rick was not fast. Or rather he had never been fast before. It was possible that he had always secretly had the potential to go fast, but none of the group knew that until, fuck, suddenly Rick was going very fast and in fact running in such a driven and intense way as to imply his entire life had been in building towards this one burst of incredible speed. He’d exited the party (was ten people a party?) and immediately shot up the street as though he had been planning this for years. The man who later jumped the gate had been the first to exit (of course) chasing Rick, and the rest had followed moments later. Three people, all women, had stayed behind in the house, and now they were texting the search party again and again. ​ did you find him??? where are you guys TOILET IS BROKEN ​ The large group had followed Rick on the assumption that Rick would stop or be reasonable. This turned out to be too much to expect from Rick in this moment. He’d crossed four streets, one car even honking and swerving to avoid him (drama), then gone up and over the fence. They’d followed him, and now it was 4:15 AM. ​ Does Rick hate me? Rick’s best friend wondered, his flashlight bouncing off the scoreboard. Rick was often hard to read. Rick’s best friend had been discouraged by how fast Rick had run. It felt spiteful. The rest of the group was now more invested in finding Rick than he was. He felt mad at Rick. Okay, Rick, you hate me, I hate you too. If you ask me, I don’t care, but if we talk about it, I hate you. Or maybe Rick didn’t really feel anything. That was almost worse. ​ “HEY.” The security guard said, appearing from darkness. Now his flashlight turned on in a massive bright gust of light, dwarfing the lights of the search party, as he stood atop the visiting team dug-out, in an aisle, on a long flight of concrete stairs. The security guard saw: seven people, all early twenties. Five men two women. One of the men had half-climbed up onto the bumper separating the bleachers from the field. Their clothes were stained like they’d been rolling in dirt, all over their hands too. Most of them held plastic orange flashlights too small for their hands that shone dimly, relics from some forgotten halloween. Two of them held illuminated iPhones. They did not look dangerous. That was good. That was incredible. They looked amazingly subdue-able. His first break-in ever was off to an amazing start, fantastic, he couldn’t believe it. “HEY.” The security guard said again, meaner. The first “Hey” had startled the group, with the massive power of the security guard’s flashlight freezing them in place, and the second made them shuffle, looking at each other like ‘uh oh.’ ​ In that moment the security guard felt lightning and thunder and more power than any great ancient warrior flowing through the beam of his flashlight as it bounced from person to person. Why would someone trespass at Sunstone Park? In off season? The dazed faces, the red eyes. And, ah yes, the marijuana smell. These (old) delinquents. And here he was, a god amongst them, an avenging angel and sacred guardian of baseball, his flashlight fuelled by the engine of hell itself. Haha, he thought, The tables sure have turned now, Jessica’s dad! (a faint high school memory of Jessica’s dad screaming at him for buying Jessica weed, then his own parents also screaming, him being in a lot of trouble, then continuing to be in lots of trouble for various things for twenty years, then eventually less trouble and then he was a security guard and now he was 39?) ​ “Y’all can’t be in here!” He yelled, and the (teens?young-adults?millenials?) looked scared, backing up, coagulating into a cluster of dim D-Cell lightbulbs by home plate. They still said nothing. ​ One of the seats over to the Security Guard’s left, spring-locked into its Closed position, abruptly shifted and snapped, rattling the whole row. His beam swung immediately to illuminate it, and he brought his hand up as though the chair might attack him. There was a sound like someone sneezing, but somehow from under the row of steel seats. And then the chairs started rattling, one after the other, closer and closer, like a tide coming in, until finally the chair nearest to him was the one that rattled. “Oh my goodness!” The security guard said, which his what his mother used to say to anything from a stubbed toe to (memorably) the 9/11 terrorist attacks that destroyed the World Trade Center. The Security Guard was honestly surprised to hear himself say it, but could barely process the psychological weight of these being the words he chose in a time of extreme fear because a monster attacked him, his power was gone, and everything was chaos. ​ Rick emerged at full speed from between rows D and E of the Right Field bleachers with a huge noise that even Rick did not know he was capable of making. He had seen some light down beneath him moving around, and knew that was bad. Rick had felt very cold. In fact that was the primary motivator; he had been moved from his warm place and then startled by the amount of loud moving and yelling, mysterious sound that shook the walls, and he knew: I must go. But Rick’s urge to “go” had suddenly taken him into a confusing and terrifying world where everything was cold and extremely cold and cold and there were even more things moving and loud and it was cold and it was so cold. Many unfamiliar things to see, many things moving, Rick was not liking it at all. And also something chasing him? Maybe to kill him? To kill Rick? What had Rick done? His first time ever running, and there was immediately something chasing him? Was this what the world was outside of Rick’s home? Just murder and chaos and bitter cold that went on forever? Had it always been this way? Now this new light was loud and something was close, possibly bad, PROBABLY bad, and it was time to fight. Rick had never fought and knew he would die. But what other choice was there? He had run as far as he could go, and his limbs ached. He was tired and colder all the time. The time had come for violence. Rick summoned his courage and charged. ​ The search party watched as the Security Guard’s light suddenly swung wildly, hysterically zig-zagging in every direction. They could faintly hear him yelping and breathlessly muttering “oh my goodness, oh my goodness” in a high, strange voice totally unlike the mean one he’d used to shout “HEY” only seconds ago. There was grunting and crashing and it took a moment for them to process what was happening and then an extra moment also because of the weed and these two moments totalled about ten full seconds before any of the search party reacted. ​ “Rick!” The gate-jumper said, pointing emphatically. “It’s Rick!” ​ Now what was happening was clear; Rick and the Security Guard had gotten into a scuffle, with Rick repeatedly charging and the Security Guard stumbling and kicking and stomping at him in such a way that could easily crush Rick’s head or legs or ribs. Rick’s movements were bizarre and alien to Rick’s best friend, who had mostly seen Rick sitting still or moving to sit still in a new position or moving to find a new place to sit still. Rick was thrashing and bobbing and his legs pinwheeled at his side and his tail whipped wildly. Rick was making a bad sound, a sound an animal shouldn’t make, rattling sound, a panic sound, and it was strong but somehow so weak at the same time, it was the sound something makes when it’s dying. ​ “Hey stop, stop!” Rick’s best friend said, his momentary resentment of Rick forgotten at the vibrant thought of Rick’s brain gushing out of his eyes under the heel of the guard’s shoe. “Stop stop wait stop!” Rick’s best friend jumped the bumper and ran up the stairs, but his legs slipped out from under him and he fell forward and landed hard on his hands, skidding skin off the palms with a kind of pain that felt prickly and weirdly familiar from childhood. His face fell forward and his teeth came inches from slamming into the edge of the concrete step, but the adrenaline causing him to bounce right back up, waving his bloody hands above his head. “Stop stop! Stop!” ​ Rick was kicked. ​ The kick to Rick from the security guard wasn’t meant to be a kick at all; the security guard had been trying to stomp him and missed, accidentally hitting Rick as he lifted his other foot and pneumatically launching him into the air with a catapult effect. Rick was spun and his flailing legs and tail caused him to spin even more radically and fall sideways down the steps, crashing and spinning end over end. The Security Guard was triumphant, the thing was dead. Ha! He had been so brave. There was a moment where maybe he wasn’t brave, but then: he’d won, so now: he was brave, and: this thing’s death proved it. Who was screaming? One of the kids coming up the stairs with BLOODY PALMS? Was he in a horror movie? Was the bloody hand kid going to choke him? Had marijuana changed? Did it make people violent now? Had the kid already killed someone and was he about to kill again, stoned dirty murder zombie? “FREEZE RIGHT THERE!” The Security Guard said, now in an angry voice with some power back behind it, and pointed his light at the kid like a gun. The kid stopped, sinking to his knees by the monster that attacked him. The thing, the Enemy He’d Conquered, was in fact a lizard? And now laying on its back and not moving at all? The kid with the bloody hands was kneeling over it and waving his hands up and down at his side like a penguin. “You killed him! You killed him!” Damn right I killed him, to get him back for the time Jessica’s dad yelled at me, but now, thinking about it, that sounded a little crazy. “It attacked me!” The Security Guard said, his voice cracking and going all high and weird on the K in ‘attacked.’ That wasn’t gonna do it; he threw back on the mean voice. “You’re trespassing.” It came out good and mean again but no longer had that hell-engine god-power he’d felt before, and now there was a growing concern that he had murdered a confused animal. ​ Rick’s best friend looked down at Rick, who now looked like a stiff plastic doll of an Iguana, laying rigid on his back with his legs up. Rick’s body was now lit only in the splash black from the guard’s flashlight, which sprayed out the shadows of Rick’s locked limbs down across the bleachers and into the grass. In death, Rick was enormous. Rick’s best friend had several competing emotions rushing against each other and colliding and his thoughts were disorganised and stacked all wrong like someone dumping out laundry. There was a severing happening; he was cutting Rick loose. After all, Rick had run away. And Rick didn’t have a proper brain, not like a human does. Didn’t it say they didn’t have feelings, proper feelings, on the internet? He’d been mad when someone had googled “do iguanas have emotions.” Results had been frustratingly inconclusive. He’d said “OF COURSE” Rick had feelings because he loved Rick, but no, in hindsight, perhaps he had simply loved OWNING Rick. Rick’s best friend’s sister had once called Rick an “expensive decoration” while she urged Rick’s best friend to get a cat (and a job) (and stop staying up all night smoking weed) (and other things too) (I’m not your psychiatrist) (but let me tell you what’s going on with you) Well, she had been right and there was no point crying now. He had bigger problems. He was a trespasser. He was maybe in big trouble. Because of “Rick,” which probably didn’t matter. Now he was thinking: Rick didn’t know he was Rick. He didn’t know his name, it was just a sound to call a thing. Yes, this was the thought that was winning now and coming easiest. He’d hurt his hands! In a rush to save what, a wild animal he’d held captive in a terrarium? That escaped while being shown to friends at a party and was then killed senselessly by a stranger? ​ The Security Guard looked freaked out, now, under-lit in his own light. “Is it yours?” The Security Guard said, not in a mean voice. Rick’s best friend didn’t know if Rick was “his” now, in an existential way, or ever had been. Rick was a lizard and did not have emotions and could not love and did not have a best friend, thought Rick’s best friend. That was just the way it was. “Rick,” He said, one last time, just to get the sound out of his throat. It came out flat and meaningless, as he supposed it always had been. ​ In the moments just after the kick, Rick’s strategy had undergone a hasty revision. His plan to fight and kill the loud light and then somehow escape back into the cold loud world was abandoned, and cast away in favour of a new idea: just be pretend to be dead and hope for the best. The thought of “pretending to be dead” had never occurred to Rick before but now came quite naturally. He felt himself turn to stone and, already cold, so cold, allowed himself to soar through the air and land roughly. If he stayed still now he could die. Yes, this mimicry of death was the answer. Allow the cold in. Disappear. It had been a mistake to run, he saw that now. He had run simply to run with no idea where he was going, or even where he was leaving to go there. He had left his home and the warm and the life he knew for cold and pain and loud noises. And now he lay upside-down and preparing for death in a strange place, about to be killed by a light that screamed. ​ Death did not come. Rick smelled a familiar smell. ​ Rick heard his own name, said in a familiar voice. He loosened, and rolled over, searching the darkness above him, and saw that his father, his greatest ally, his roommate, and yes, his best friend was now kneeling above him, protecting him from the screaming light. Now he heard his name again and again, and felt warm hands on his back, lifting him into the air. ​ And Rick felt safe. ​ And Rick felt love.

submitted by /u/VankTar [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2YxTWlY