It itches and it burns
It’s cracked and it’s torn
The nails rip flesh from bone
I want more, I want more
I want one more
To live and to die
Living and leaving one vice
At a time
You’re young and it’s new
You’re old and it gets old
The damage is done
But the fun has just begun
To live and to die
Only to sit and wonder why
Do you do this to yourself
Because it itches and it burns
It’s cracked and it’s torn
The nails keep digging
But the addiction just keeps going
The infection it spreads
Like the virus in my head
Love is loss and loss is expected
Life goes on, if only for a minute longer
Don’t know when to give up
I can feel the human condition
Down my limbs and into my spine
Everyone wants to know
The reason, the why
No answer is given, no answer to find
This information is deadly
This information can kill
For without this reason
No reason to live
Lost control, control has been lost
If you can’t make your millions
We will surely die off
This information is toxic
This information is unclean
Unholy, whatever it may be
No weapon is greater than
The one inside your head
Your mind left wasted as you go on
Survival instincts weighted down over time
501 reasons you must lay down and die
For your sins and not your crimes
“I think I lost it,” he exhales. “Lost what?” She asks without facing him. “The ability to write. The ability to say anything of actual meaning,” he stares into the nothing that surrounds her. “Why do you suppose that is?” She asks as if she doesn’t care. “Because I let it rot itself out. I let it go to shit for no reason. Now it festers there with everything that I try to say. Every idea, every thought slowly rotting away at me with nothing to say,” he tries to explain. “Well can’t you get it back if it is right there. Allow yourself time to heal so to speak?” She asks almost robotically, almost of she is on rails with her lack of concern. “No, I can’t because in its absence life got in the way. My brain got in the way. Spread the infection deeper and deeper. Everything, what little I once had is now gone. I am lost in my own empathy with nowhere to go. It is as though my life has become one of my stories. It has become a nightmare,” he rationalizes starring deeper into the nothing. She turns to him breaking his concentration, “The answer is simple then.” He stares into her eyes. Where have I seen those eyes before? “Oh really and what’s that?” He asks while he wonders about something else. She doesn’t break eye contact as she speaks. “Why don’t you simply wake up?” She asks in the most serious of tones.
“Jesus Alan, what’s with the screaming?” A woman he has never seen shouts at him. The words woke him without ever feeling asleep. Confused on how or what is happening he looks around him. “Right here asshole. You’ve only been in a coma for three weeks it’s not like it was a lifetime,” she barks at him. They are sitting in what he assumes is her office. She is dressed in a business suit as she moves papers around on her desk. The room fills very high up and the sun is pouring through the windows. Is this my editor? He wonders. She snaps her fingers breaking his concentration. Where have I seen those eyes before? He wonders. There is a glass of water on the desk. He reaches for the glass but he doesn’t understand why. Everything feels played out. Almost rehearsed. He watches his arm move in slow motion to pick up the glass. The glass feels almost unreal in his hand. The water doesn’t move as he lifts up the glass. It doesn’t sweat. It doesn’t feel like anything. It is almost as if the glass is empty and full at the same time. The stranger slaps his hand and the glass falls to the floor. The glass doesn’t shatter and it doesn’t spill. “Don’t drink that your body isn’t ready. As for who I am and how you got here. Well that’s simple,” she smiles. “It is?” He asks confused. She snaps again. “You want the longer version or the short version? She asks. He thinks over what she is asking. Watching the glass sit perfectly still on its side. “Long I guess. There’s something wrong with your,” he tries to get out but she cuts him off. She speaks in rapid tones of noises and what seem like made up words. He watches as her face mouths the words and the light in the room goes from day to night and back to day when she stops suddenly. She exhales a long breath.
“Basically you tried to kill yourself and I’m you only I’m the female you and even then I’m just made up pieces of all the females you have wanted or dreamed of being with,” she sums up. “All the women? Where the hell am I?” He asks as layer upon layer of confusion sets in. “Check it out. Two different people,” she says ignoring his questioning of this reality. She leans her body over the desk so he can get a better look of her face. “Two different people,” she moves her head side to side. “Well really more like twenty, but face wise two. Pretty cool huh?” She asks without asking. He sits there silently studying her face. Two very different people he thinks. “Well I think it is cool. I can tell you have no idea what is happening, but do we really have to be stuck in this office all day? We can really go anywhere we want and yet we are here?” She asks. “I don’t understand what is going on,” is all he can say. She snaps her fingers and the room changes in a blink of an eye. They are on a beach. Endless sand, but no water. Only the sound of the waves crashing around them. Their clothes have changed and she notices him staring at her. “Yeah this breast situation isn’t ideal. To be honest it is a tad bit awkward,” she moves her chest closer so he can see in an innocently suggestive manner. One breast is very much bigger than the other one. “One double D and the other an A. Yeah you are seeing that in real time. Do you have an idea how difficult it is to find a bra in these dimensions? Let alone what it is like on a date? Well it is a lot like it is now,” she sighs. “No, I’m sorry but I created you?” He seems to be questioning himself more than asking. She looks side to side as if to make sure no one is around. Only adding to his confusion. “Yeah, you did. Do you see anyone else around?” She asks. “How could I have done this?” He asks. “What? Create everything around us or mess up my breasts? Flip of the coin really,” she says sarcastically. “You don’t have to be like that. I’m having a really hard time processing all of this,” he states. “I know I can feel it,” she says in a worried tone. “You need to calm down. Close your eyes and think of something else. Whatever you want.” He does as he is told. Closing his eyes and trying to relax. Relax in the darkness of his mind. “Sweet you fixed my breasts. Thank you, thank you,” she exclaims with glee. He opens his eyes and the bright sun blinds him at first. He winces and has he does clouds begin to form in the sky. Bringing down the intensity of the light until he is comfortable. “Is this heaven?” He asks with a smile. “This? No, fuck no. What made you think this was heaven?” She asks. “Well I control everything seems to be the obvious answer,” he states. She sighs, “Well first off I don’t know much more than anything than you know as I am you. But last we knew or you knew or whatever. God controls heaven and you aren’t God so, one could easily assume based on what you do and don’t know that this is in fact not heaven. Make sense?” She asks. He shakes his head, “No, not even a little bit.” She shrugs her shoulders. “That’s it? That’s your answer?” He asks. “Pretty much,” she states openly. “So I’m not in heaven. I’m just in a shoulder shrug. Awesome makes sense,” he says. “You are focusing way too much on things that don’t matter. This is literally nothing. Physically it is nothing. It feels like something, the sand, but it is all nothing,” she states. He turns to look around him. Watching as he changes his surroundings in an instant with only a thought. Watches as towering trees take over the sky. The sound of the waves still crashing in the background.
“Why am I here instead of someplace else?” He asks her. “Because from what I know you were kind of an asshole and even you have admit a tad bit selfish,” she answers her voice coming from behind him. “I’m not an asshole and I’m definitely not selfish,” he snaps back. “Oh really? You’ve been here maybe, well you’ve been here a long time, but you’ve only been here in this part of nothing for five minutes, and when you decided to fix my breasts you went with two D’s rather than two A’s. Hell you could have made me a man, but you didn’t. You chose to keep me as a woman. Asshole in my book,” she tells him. “I’m not an asshole okay?” He turns to face her only to find her completely naked and starring back at him. “I guess you aren’t selfish either?” She asks as though nothing has changed. “You tried to kill yourself and left everyone behind to shift through the mountain of shit you left behind. No one asked for that. No one wanted that, and yet here we are,” she states. She sits down on the newly formed grass that has appeared before them, “I’m going to let you think about that for a moment.” She sits with herself exposed pulling the blades of grass by her feet one by one as he watches her. In an instant she is fully clothed, “I’m not an asshole and you can’t talk to me like that.” She doesn’t even bother to look up at him. “Like a broken record this one. At least you haven’t tried to touch me this time,” she says under her breath. “And if you aren’t then why do you think you have been here so long?” She confronts him holding up the blades of grass in the form of a crown. “You are in control of this and all of this, and still you have no idea what is going on?” She stands up and all the blades of grass scatter across the ground. “I don’t know,” he shouts in frustration. “I wake up in an office, then I’m on a beach, and now I’m in a massive forest with you every step of the way. I don’t know what is going on,” he screams as the world around him shakes. “They said, well you said, well they mentioned,” she says as though she can not think. “They said that you were like a TV constantly flipping between channels,” she finally gets out. “Do you honestly believe that made any sense or somehow answered a single question in my head?” He snaps back. “Yep I do because like I said I am you so, if I think it or say it, it is because you already believe it. None of this is new. We’ve had this conversation a hundred, a hundred and fifty times, but it ends the same every time. Think about what you were thinking about before you woke up,” she touches his face gently tracing the outline.
“I think I lost it,” he says to her. “Lost what?” She asks from behind a desk. “The ability to write. The ability to say anything of actual meaning.” He stares into the nothing that surrounds her. “Why do you suppose that is?”
I hope you enjoyed this story… The first one of this cycle… tried to come out strong… never know how anything will turn out until it posts… Chewing On Glass will be presenting a wide variety of stories this cycle… trying to express the wide spectrum of emotions that I am made of… also trying a few things out… trying to get better at all of this… Want to get better at third person perspective… not my go to style… As with trying anything new… there is a lot of trepidation… but don’t worry… things will always be dark… it is where I live after all… can shed your skin over and over… but you can never shed where you are from…
So what the fuck was this even about?… with the dark theme of suicide… trippy ass locations that don’t make any sense… (If you liked this aspect of the story… wait until I release my next short story book… there is a story in there that takes this theme to the max…)… This story was actually not about any of those things… well it was on the surface… the real theme and inspiration for this story was writers block…
This story was about the annoyance of trying to write something over and over for it to only turn out to be shit… the ups and down of how our brains work… feeling trapped yet knowing you have all the tools to escape… wanting to smash your head into a wall to get the ideas out… only to know that it would do nothing in the end… it was a tricky story to write without giving away all the cards… so in the absence of thought and the frustration of writing nothing of actual meaning… I came up with this story…
As usual my favorite character is the woman… I love her care free… give no fucks… this is how it is attitude… writing bad ass… strong women are my favorite characters to write… I love the idea that in this story… for me at least… that there is this duality of her… she is the one in control… yet has no control at all… a pawn and the ruler of the kingdom… a guide and the true representation of it all… “Hell you could have made me a man, but you didn’t”… That line to me… was a turning point in the story where the main character begins to really question everything beyond the surface… there are moments about questioning everything really because that is what the story is all about… questioning ones thoughts and trying to find actual meaning behind nothing at all…
Writing from my humid, fart smelling, and spider infested desk has to be the pinnacle of everything in my life right now. Hammering nails into wood would seem almost more productive at this point. Year fucking zero on a life that has yet to begin. I wonder how many more Ghost reference I can push through my brain for no reason at all. Bored with all the time in the word. Sitting still seems like the only thing to do, but I have a mountain of shit I have to do for free. I guess we all bide our time doing something. Broken part of my brain won’t let me just enjoy life. No I have to be working towards something at a glaciers pace on a budget of zero. Maybe today will be the day I drink enough energy drinks and smoke enough cigarettes to kill myself. Unlikely, but maybe the alcohol will slip me into a comma that I don’t give a fuck about what other people think. It won’t, but I need to submit my thoughts none the less. Don’t get me wrong I love to write, but I could do without all the pressure of being liked. I have yet to find any audience that wants to hold me high above their shoulders and chant my name. Nope instead I am sweating my ass off in my garage plotting away a life time’s worth of work.
It’s hard out here for a pimp. Working away at nothing is exhausting. I know what I would do with all of the attention and it isn’t pretty. But to be honest I fear it all the same. I don’t want to be the center of attention. That is how I have always been. I don’t want to be someone’s hero. I like being the villain and I just want to write. I love it. It is all I do and everything else is something I do to pass the time in between thoughts. Get in line right? Well I already am in line. Been there for a while waiting for my number to be called. Gone through all the stages and been left behind. I can feel my heart growing even more bitter with every day. I’m not there yet, but I can feel it coming around the corner. Digging out the hole in my heart. The more it hurts the closer you get right? Being sober is a long walk to the same exact spot. The more I say the more I want, could use a drink. The depression takes a hold and all I can think is maybe tomorrow. All the time in the world and I don’t want to do anything, but ramble on. Ramble on about my failures in a game that makes no sense.
Nothing handed to you is worth anything at all. Anything worth anything won’t just be found. Stumbled upon maybe, but odds are that it won’t. Digging a four foot grave because six feet seems like too much work. An analogy for my whole life. If only I could change something in my brain. Flip a switch and set all this shit to off. Wake me up when any of it matters and yet I know I’d never flip that switch. All this pain, all this effort, all this waiting has to be worth something. Even if it is worth nothing at all in the scheme of things. Life isn’t about anything other than living, but living is the boring part. The day to day drag of nothing at all. The best moments in life are the ones you don’t know you are living until they have already gone by. Remind myself that this isn’t over, but I know I want more. Feel it in my bones. Rattling around in my head to keep going for a dream that makes no sense. Who the fuck cares what anyone has to say when we don’t? Let alone pay for it? Print is nearly dead and I cling to its dying corpse in hopes that it will pay off. Seems very much like something I would do. Get it from my mother. This optimism that everything will work out if you work hard enough. Where the fuck I get this bitterness I do not know.
Threading the line between optimist and pessimist becomes exhausting over time. A fucking wave of emotions that crashes against the rocks of my brain. Will I or won’t I actually give a shit today? And even if I do will I even do anything with it or just sit and suffer? Living life stuck in between everything else is exhausting. Word of the day. Exhausted and bored with every thought. I could, but why should I? Stuck in between here and there and I just want to be there already. Though I have no idea where there is. Happy? Unlikely. Content? Stop trying to fit yourself into a box. Comfortable? In this skin? Highly unlikely. Fighting for something and swinging at nothing. A circle jerk with no pay off. Lost and lonely, and that is where I am today. Doing nothing at all.
If you click the links maybe some Amazon book magic will happen without you having to buy anything… I don’t know I am stupid and desperate… but if you have a Twitter account… you can click that link… and tell me how much life sucks… or how much I suck… I’m open to interpretation… don’t forget to use the hash tag… #BrokenThought….