Wandering Eternally Alone?
A Friday night of what description I cannot recollect, by 9pm my perception was blurred, to a lesser extent perhaps than the week before, by a series of drugs and alcohol that to me articulated a weekly ritual. Exactly what, or even how much I had taken or drank I cannot elaborate for in my existing state I had accepted all I had been offered that would alter my reality to something more satisfying than that of a darkened room containing a few of the people I most secretly despise. I smiled and threw myself back onto the deep shag rug behind me, flinging my arms in the air and watching my every trouble escape the grasp of my pulsating fingers. I closed my eyes to the flickering yellow light and let the smile on my face slip down into my body and embed itself within my heart. This temporary substitute contentedness was the most substantial joy available to me. Heroin, cocaine, absinth, my first true love.
When I awoke the next morning it was roughly 6 am, the luminous dust of dawn streamed across my flickering eyelids. A roll of masking tape beside my head allowed me to recollect the events of the previous night; it was also quite a distinct explanation for the coffee table, stool and number of kitchen appliances that were firmly secured to the ceiling. I rolled over to face a needle pierced arm dangling loosely from the side of overly padded green couch that vastly lacked in taste or any kind of correspondence to the dusky, bare room. It twitched once or twice in unconscious disgust, then dragged itself onto the sofa cushions, hauled a heavy mass of gross drug induced human flesh to about a foot above the couch before dropping it back to the surface again. Its pale vomit stained face turned to me revealing two disoriented eyes protected by a haze of smoke. The eyes closed tightly and reopened before the figure heaved its body to face the back of the couch. With this I placed my palms flat on the floor and pushed myself to a sitting position, cricked my neck and stood up, slightly bent to avoid hitting my head off the badly positioned table. I picked up my dirty ink stained rucksack and swung it over my shoulder. The floorboards creaked inexpensively as I tried to slip out of the door; a few grunts responded this, signifying a quieter exit. I closed the solid fire door behind me and began to walk down the corridor before me; it wasn't before long that I reached the stairwell, from where the only light in the darkened passageway derived. I looked through the long thin excuse for a window at the wasteland ahead, skies clouded over by the ecstasy of a new day, every so often shifting to allow brief streams of sunlight to plague the emptiness. Either side of the wasteland was interrupted by a tall and unglamorous block of flats, the skyscrapers of the working class. I began down the stairs; in the light I checked my appearance, my clothes were unclean and baggy, yet acceptably tidy for a teenager. My long dark hair matted with grease, smelling distinctly of marijuana residue, with a slight hint of Pantene pro v and chlorine - I had been swimming at school a few days day before and I despise when my hair is all tangled with chlorine, knowing that I would be too lazy to shower that night I insisted on washing my hair, despite the mockery the other boys made of me. It wasn't like I cared anyway, the only short period of time in which I would ever see them would be within the confines of the school ground. And even there they were too scared of me to do any more than mock.
To any self respecting other I would feel a mess, and probably to myself in any other frame of mind, however I was still content of relieving myself of any worries at this moment in time. Perhaps it was that the drugs were still in my system, or maybe it was merely that I had no self respect anyway! But either way this seemed to give me confidence, well enough confidence to make my way home without breaking down. Seven stories down I came to a narrow concrete passageway, at the end I pushed open the heavy door and let it slam behind me, a little down the road I came across a wallet on the ground, I picked it up thinking that it probably wasn't such a lucky find anyway, I mean their cant be that much money in there if it was dropped by someone from this side of town. I looked inside to find about £4 cash and roughly a tenners worth of weed. 'Not so bad after all' I thought to myself. I pocketed the cash and weed, throwing the brown leather wallet onto the rubble besides the path, it landed in a small tuft of grass and weed growing steadily in the harsh environment. I walked on feeling quite pleased with myself, no one seemed to be around, and so I stopped at an abandoned old shed along the way to roll myself a joint. I squatted there for a little while, back against the wall, every so often taking a drag, when I noticed a dead blackbird in a drain just by my side. It looked as if its neck was snapped by the position it lay in. I gathered a few leaves and covered the carcass. Beneath the pile of leaves I could still see a glimmer of sunshine reflected in the birds piercing eyes, eyes that looked as if someone was still staring through them, dark accusing bulges like currents on a ginger bread man. For I brief second I though that it blinked, I shook off the idea and furrowed my brow. Wiping my hands on my jeans I turned and began for the path. The rest of my journey home was fairly uneventful. Every so often by breathing began to quicken and I felt as if the world was expanding, stopping every so often to turn at me and laugh, but a quick drag of my joint soon cured that. Slowly more and more cars seemed to pass me, by the time I reached my front door a few people too. I stared at the solemn stones beneath my feet as I walked, acting oblivious to those who passed me, even though I was more than aware of their presence.
It was nearing 7 when I reached the tall pale door that signifies my residence; I pushed it open and trailed upstairs, ignoring the silent acknowledgement of my return. Once in my room I let the rucksack slip of my shoulder and hit the floor with the thump of a once beating heart. I pressed the long purple button on the front of my box and sat alone in the darkened room in front of my computer. Within seconds the screen began to glare and brighten the room with an electronic hum. Azure shadows were cast across my face as I started at the computer avidly loading. A series of white characters spread across the screen and familiarly marched out of sight; I squinted my eyes at the light and allowed them to adjust, by this time the computer was civilly asking for my password. To which I typed 'wanderingeternallyalone' and hit enter. Peculiar why I had such a long unpredictable password when no one but me had entered my room in months; and even then my parents wouldn't know what to press to turn on the computer anyway. Its alarming how in this day and age two working people can be oblivious to the advances in technology that benefit mostly everyone. Then again it's also alarming how the same two people can be oblivious to the fact that their 14 year old son hadn't set foot in his home since 7 am the previous morning.
At 5 am when I had awoken I looked at my timetable and considered the importance of each lesson, on discovering that none of the 5 subject held any priority in my life I decided that attending school would be a distinct waste of time, and on considering it also money, as the temptation of eating lunch would derive from me the only chance of sweetness I possessed. So instead, at 7 am I shut of my computer, pulled on my jeans and top and left for the refuge of Matt, my sister's ex-boyfriends home. I took the least direct and most vacant root to avoid being spotted by anyone from school. I reached the flats and once inside the heavy door shut out the light that streamed in from behind me. Although at a visual disadvantage I knew the root well, and so I made my way to the stairs and to the 7th story. Where, upon arriving at Matt's I was greeted with a grunt and gestured to come inside. Lisa, his girlfriend lay half naked on the floor, and her friend Pifta sat, remote in hand, in front of the small indispensable TV. 'Got your electricity back, eh?' I asked. 'Uh, yeah, I guess.' He replied, and handed me a joint. From then onwards the night was a bit of a blur, however even after so long I remember exact smells and specific frames, but I guess that's the way all my memories are now.
Although I my new life is less complex, and although I feel more fulfilled than I used too, I can't help but miss the freedom I used to have, the ability to please myself at the forfeit of others happiness, it may seem selfish but I enjoyed a careless lifestyle, even if it did incorporate huge difficulties. But now I have responsibilities, responsibilities which were on that very night suddenly placed upon my shoulders.
You see, that night was the first time the dream occurred, the first day of the rest of my life you could say. It came to me almost as soon as my head touched the pillow, just as it would every night from then on. It was a dream unlike any normal dream, any dream where you are the centre of attention, and the bizarre reality you perceive appears through your own eyes, no, it wasn't at all like that. It was strange, very strange indeed; the first thing I remember is waking up to an unfamiliar room, clean, although untidy and sickeningly bright, I rubbed her eyes and sat up the soft clean lilac floral sheets floating off her torso. To my surprise there was a hefty weight on my chest. Looking down in disclosure I saw two small mounds of soft, warm, human flesh. 'Well for a dream this isn't half bad' I thought, immediately poking them. I investigated my new reality, not in the least bit concerned about how I arrived there. The room was warm and almost extravagant. It was clearly a girl's room, on the floor there were bras and loose pieces of clothing scattered like seeds. To the left of the bed four chair legs sprouted from the floor, joining at the stalk too a mahogany head covered with a crimson velvet cushion. The room was large, with very little furniture, only a chair, a desk and a large walk in wardrobe with a vinery of feminine attire spilling from the doors and draping to the ground, clinging to the smooth mahogany in despair.
I stood up and began to venture downstairs; the house was huge, like a mansion. Trailing her hand along the textured wallpaper I walked down the excessively wide stairs, to her left a tall white door was slightly agar, I peered in to find a small party of well dressed adults feasting upon a well presented breakfast buffet. An older man in a navy suit and tie, wearing a lilac shirt looked up at her; he stroked his greying moustache with a single engorged finger, and looked back down at his food. Immediately a young, stunning woman turned to her and smiled, revealing her white, prefect teeth. 'Morning darling' she grinned. 'Um… morn…' I replied, shocked at the tone of my voice. 'Morning' I repeated. I trailed her slim pale body to the table and sat at the empty place. Everything that day seemed natural to me, automatic almost. I wouldn't find that unusual in any other situation, but when I was experiencing such an odd phenomena I had to wonder why I seemed to know exactly where to go and what to do. At first some things came a shock, but I gradually got used too it. That night when I went to bed, just as before, as her head touched her pillow, I woke up again, to darkened room, to the stink of familiar treasures.
Until a little later on I didn't even consider the dream, I discarded it, until I was back in front of my computer, to the blinking lights of my dim dwelling. Not until then did it strike me how odd it was that I dreamt an entire day in the life of someone else, at least that's what I assumed at first. The glare of the monitor stung my vulnerable eyes, just as it did each day in this life. I spent hours in front of the computer, doing nothing in particular, each day I accomplished as little as the last. I signed into IRC, an internet chat site. '/server ' I commanded the blank space. In here I could be anyone, anyone I wanted, some people knew me, not personally, but I talked to them regularly. They understood me, well, as I was. It's funny how every now I can sign on and they'll all know who I am, and for brief moments I can become me again, but every day I am changing, everyday more of her takes over me. Throughout the day my rumbling stomach would implicitly suggest I should eat, however it wasn't till 7pm when I decided to trail him downstairs to the kitchen and grab a slice of bread to take back to my HQ. I sat once more in the uncomfortable grey office chair, staring enticed in the acquiring white text in front of me.
At one point I leant back on the chair and turned to face my room. Shards of azure light sliced up my navy walls, dancing wounds upon of radiance. My badly placed wardrobe secluded the unmade bed at the far end of the room, creating an isolated grotto of shadowy depth in which I would sleep. At 3:48am I was considering retiring to this state of vulnerability; my eyes grew weak with fatigue, and with them my body became weak, and my mind became empowered by her soul. And in her I awoke, refreshed and eager, with the light of a new day projected upon her face. It happened like this each night, and by each day I would become more immobile in myself, the days became shorter and within her I sheltered more regularly. Like in winter, my nights of glamour and wealth elongated, and the disastrous freedom which was my day shortened. Quite ironically, where darkness should fill my night, it did not, rather it filled the days, until one day, a day I remember so well, my daytime was over.
It must have been maybe three weeks since my first experience in her body. I awoke in the morning to a harsh knock on the door. A tanned balding man known only to me as a lifelong acquaintance - and a husband to my mother - appeared in the doorway. 'Morning son,' he greeted me. 'I've told you not to call me that' I replied. His blank expression turned to something somewhat more serious, laughable really, this being the man whose arm was broken by my mother in an incident involving a dispute over Crufts. He walked over to me and perched on the end of the bed. 'Look son,' he grinned a little then straightened his expression, 'we know you've been skipping school, and have some fairly valid suspicions that you're taking… that your in with a 'bad' crowd.' I looked at him oddly, 'are you serious… This is what you've come here to say to me?' He looked puzzled, avoiding eye contact at all times he, shifted his weight a little. 'Look your mum and I, we think…' I rolled over.
They had never confronted me before, not about anything, I can't imagine they were that naïve not to realise what was going on, and I'm sure a number of times the school have rang my home, and as expected I was not always able to answer the phone myself, not that I would be at all concerned had I not managed. 'That's it, I'm taking the computer.' He finally assertively roared, his hands clenching tightly. I laughed. 'Like you could lift it.' He was quite a short man, it always amazed me how such a short man could look so gangly. It was not a secret that he had a distinct lack of strength. I personally don't know how he managed it; his arms had barely any skin let alone muscle. It wouldn't surprise me if he couldn't lift an orange. 'I've had enough of this.' He bellowed in a similar tone to the one he used before. Suddenly he seemed more enraged than I had ever seen him before, he stood up, red faced and fuming. 'Your mother and I don't have to deal with this,' How grammatical I thought, 'you don't make it easy for us you know, and I'm not going to let you upset her like this anymore.' He stormed out the door.
I stared at the back of the wardrobe for quite some time, not even thinking much from what I can recollect; he hadn't stirred me in the slightest. It must have been about 10 minutes before he came storming back in, my eyes shifted only once, to focus on the sturdy wooden baseball bat he clutched in his sweaty little hands, then back at the wardrobe. My heart pacing steadily and my breathing at its regular rate I lay on my right side, and I stared, not a tear did I liberate from my untrained eye as he committed the unimaginable. I didn't even watch as his bat soured in the air, possessed by his weedy little arms, and tore down upon my beloved computer; not as the glass shattered or the metal crumpled. I stared at the back of the wardrobe eagerly, remembering her sweet purr. His puny strength enough to dismantle her, unrecognisable, even to me. By the end sweat poured from his scrawny body, his breathing had quickened and the grin on his face resembled that of the Cheshire cat. He exhaled in arrogant laughter and turned to face me, bat dangling by his side. I didn't look back, I only stared. He said nothing, just grinned in exhilaration and left me alone in my room.
If it could get much darker in there I'm sure it did, even though my perceptions showed grief, I could not; it would signify his victory. I didn't leave the room all day; I just lay, exactly where I lay when it happened. I don't even think I thought that much. At some point along the line I must have fallen asleep, or maybe even just slipped out of conciseness. But either way, I never woke up, 'cos here I am, and each night when I go to sleep, he never comes back. Now I dream of flying, of spreading my wings and breaking away. He never will come back, I will never wake up.