Four people banking on the warmth of a polyester sheet, sucking up a cloud full of nicotine, artificial heat, whisky, old stains of love and glory; though that would be another story, humanely stench. All this combined metaphorically with the notes of monkey-ing around, the fizz of a coke bottle being opened, the sarcasm; though I’ve always felt that sarcasm was a sub unit of fear and insecurity and I admit it was used here too and background music to suggest a story that was there but known to any.
The clutching of a younger sibling’s corpse touched every person in that room the way it was supposed to touch every individual there, the laughing gave away fear and the catch in the throat gave away the reality of the situation. The memoirs of an incident once drowned in a cocktail of chemically induced substances and the good ole’ organic outlawed… once did it, but it always comes back to hunt, always comes back to take you from your seated position to a society or rather clan where you see yourself in a mirror, a mirror that combines everything you ever wished away in your darkest nightmare.
This little act of self suicidal infelicitous irony played a little tune that every one of them four individual’s related to. The song that played out meant a certain sense of jubilation to one, for that particular individual thought they were others that went through a holding of one’s siblings. The fear, the last breathe that lay rest on a shoulder, the last words, the gasping for air, the blank look while it lay tattered by the wrecks of shrapnel, the shrapnel that tore into flesh like “it shouldn’t have”, the headiness of chemicals – natural and unnatural and finally guilt of not being able to do anything.
To the other it played a tune of loss, yet complicated world; one that would always be a book that collects dust by the minute, the day, by the week, by the years and finally by the decades. The ring was enough, to set a few salted droplets of excess emotions free, yet the adult diapers system of one castrated the potency of the issue to see it through to a next day. With the disposable society beginning to creep in, the past was always to forget, yet the will makes sure it does, the conscience has the last laugh.
The third; lies in a shadowed world of madness, a universe of tales, once happened yet not seen, a glimpse of technology captured it once for the third, yet not felt in real but in words and notes of the first two. Yet a story of another life, another tale that no one in that room knew, secret life if you may; though it felt that the third knew of the other’s silent suffering. It’s a pity one plus two doesn’t always make three, otherwise it would be fractioned and algebra-ised into a solution of A plus B equals a sum total of seven.
Seven makes room for another two. A duo that was there, yet waltzed in they own little suffering. One lay at rest and one lay at slavery. Heaven was the plan for them, though the others always knew nicotine and alcohol did the trick there; though arms of doubt always popped up to pay respects. Was it the closeness of the subject or was it the adrenaline of the sudden shock of a corpse that lay beside them, time would only tell; so far the mask of insecurity did the trick.
The seventh was…
If not for the background score, this world would not have known it’s stance in life, if not for the corpse this world continue living a lie.
At first she heard only Metivier’s voice, then her father’s, then
why does elavil
[...] all said and done I have been writing lately. It’s sort of the continuance of the background score so to speak, so stay tuned for that… Hope on to the Empty Room one of these days for some [...]