I’d always thought I’d be around to witness the death of everything and everyone, mine with intrigue, but I hardly ever imagined that my demise would be a woman. A beautifully designed one at that.
I’ve known the foreign beauty for quite some years now, yet I was never keen on identifying with her nor had any intent on showing her my true colours, not because of my lack of eloquence nor because I secretly coveted her with inexplicable zeal but rather because she was a ‘Grey’. Greys are true to their colourlessness; Nothing and everything, all in a carefully orchestrated chaos that they’ve created alongside a legion of masks and facades to hide whatever darkness lies within. On most occasions she would wear this pink array of carelessness and false wisdom, admittedly it worked for her but I am in a very pretentious and destructive phase of my life.
But..
And I love the word ‘But’… it stops, it interrupts…
But…
I was high. A funny fact about drugs/alcohol and I is that they allow moi, yours true, to be who I carefully hide as well as think aloud like a twat; They reveal me to ‘Them’.
Unmasked, I asked her in whispers:
Who are you?
If someone asks, rather, if I asked, what would be your answer?
And before I could retract the question that sounded rather pointless, she swiftly pierced me with a calm, collected and genuine answer:
I am death.
I leave and all ends.
It is what it is.
I was lying in bed yet my knees gave out, my heart excitedly skipped around my chest and I kissed her. The last part did not actually happen but in my world I was salvaged by the image.
Most men long to meet their maker and ultimately give up their demons, I offered mine in submission in return for some of hers. Fair Trade. The girl who was death had finally come for me and I’d always imagined the death of everything and everyone. She is Red.
The floor is cold enough to remind me of older times, colder times. The stench of long lost and abandoned memories fill my damaged lungs and instantly triggers my need for cigarette shaped self sodomy.
As the fire burns the lips and penetrates the chest, I pick my body up and sway anxiously towards the empty bathroom tub waiting to embrace my existence with open porcelain arms.
Hours pass in liquid tranquility, calm, heavenly, Eternity. Dripping sadness afterwards as I creep slowly towards my razor-sharp bedding, I crawl under the sheets hoping for the comfort of comatose and only achieving mere fleeting moments of sleep.
The waiting part is the harshest, especially when I’m at a reasonable high, I struggle to keep the thoughts rushing through me like waves eating away at stones, Order, I want order, alphabetical, ascending or even from the morose to the melancholic. But as previously predicted, I nonchalantly fail in my fucking pathetic attempts.
Overwhelmed, I fade into the blackness, I become part of nothing, engulfed in everything and for a blink of an eye, I was at peace, I was peace and I was the pieces and the puzzle.
Alas, I open my eyes once again to my laughable reality that longs to dive into the open seas back to Atlantis, that wishes to descend under the waves of shameful lust and looks around for the end credits about to start rolling…slowly…carefully…finally.
The right time and the right place, two vague concepts which I was never properly introduced to, as opposed to the more familiar area of the wrong timing and the wrong spacial placement. I guess one descends from the former to either a. Apologizing to one’s self, b. Resenting one’s self or c. Embracing the idea that some are destined for greatness and some are meant to wallow the missed chances. Honestly speaking, yours true is wired to miraculously exercise the alphabet of options in the same exact moment in time. Kindly suppress your bafflement.
Applying the Palahniuk methodology in his masterpiece ‘Invisible Monsters’, jump with me to a cheap hotel in the desert during one of Egypt’s fiery summers. There she was in her absolutely stunning lack of glamour and social experience and there I was, all in hidden awe, wearing the mask of benign social interaction, asking questions I have the answers to, throwing jokes I profoundly find tasteless and avoiding the want and/or need to mentally and physically ravage the core of her being, or..well, her lady parts. In short, even though I was at the theoretical ‘right time and place’, I failed to recognize it and passed the opportunity for awaited bliss, or…well, I was a lady part.
Jump back to the present, after events of certain social significance, I am afflicted by sudden melancholic nostalgia but guess what?…No..No..You have to guess! The wrong time and the wrong place! Ding Ding Ding..We have a winner..or a loser..doesn’t matter.
To put a simple ending to a rather elaborate beginning, I could share this with no one specific, henceforth I write. There is no happy ending, there are obviously no lady parts but there seems to be an overabundance of mendacious circumlocution.
The Flaky Derelict 