Morning, my old nemesis; I’m awake just in time to realize that I should go back to sleep- wonderful.
The phone rings. How long have I been asleep? Ten minutes? Half an hour? It could be two days for all I care; everyday has been the same recently: sleep in ridiculously late, make a miniscule breakfast, ponder my life and future, and try to..
BRRRrrrinnngg! What? Oh yeah, the phone is ringing. I reach out to pick up the phone, but hesitate; is the person on the other line going to be more annoying than the noise that the phone is making? I hate decisions, I never seem to be happy with the ones I make, not that.. BRRRrrrrinnnggg! I answer the phone- stupid instincts.
"Hello?"
"HI! Is this a Mr. …Wynder?" This is going to be a long conversation.
"Actually my name is pronounced WY-dner." This happens so often it shouldn’t bother me any more, but it does.
"Okay, sorry Mr. Winegar. Sometimes the system messes up the information. But the real important thing today is the opportunity I have for you, with our...." Blahblablah.
The salesmen continues talking and I keep the phone against my ear, but I’m gone, far, far away in some Foreign Land,… Downtown Tokyo actually, walking the neon-lit streets and drowning in all the smiling faces that I hate to admit look all the same. In this awe and excitement, I half-accidentally bump into a short, school-aged Japanese girl. She drops a book and some pencils; I bend over to help her pick them up.
"Arrigato." She says and gives me a wide, expectant smile. I know I should say, "you’re welcome" in Japanese, but unfortunately I don’t know how. Instead I say the only other Japanese phrase I know.
"Watashino namai-awa Kirk desu." And extend a now-obviously-foreign hand. She continues her wide smile and accepts my hand.
"Watashino namai-awa Sun Yi desu." She says some other complex and enthusiastic line in Japanese that I take as meaning "you’re not from around here are you?" I give a sheepish grin, glance back and force between my toes and her eyes. I don’t mind the language barrier much, the most important communication is done through the international language of..
"Mr. Winegar?" Dammit.
"Did you hear what I said Mr. Winegar?" It’s amazing how oblivious this guy is to having just Killed Sun Yi and half of Downtown Tokyo; what a heartless, ignorant je..
"Are you still there Mr. Wineg.."
"YES!!! Yes, unfortunately for you I am still here! I say ‘unfortunately for you’ because I’m going to let you know what everyone else is Hinting to you when they hang up on you or make fun of you. You, sir, are a representation of everything that is wrong with modern culture. You sit on your Lazy butt all day and Sleaze people into Buying things that they don’t need, Continuing their subscription to things they don’t need, or Stealing their information so your Company can sell it to the Filthy Degenerates who send those poor people Scores of Spam and Junk mail in a desperate attempt to perpetuate the cycle. All so that You can continue to Suckle on the Teat of the Corporate Pig that America has Apparently Become!" Man that felt good.
He scoffs. "Well sir, I don’t understand what I did to.."
"Ya killed Sun Yi!" I pause a second to think of how dumb that must have sounded. "And it’s WYDNER you ..Bastard!" I hang up the phone and breathe a heavy sigh; sure the guy probably didn’t deserve the heaping plate of truth I just served him, but he knew what he was getting into when he got that job.
I roll over and try to make out the time. 12:35? 10:39? 2:..86? I have two clocks; this shouldn’t be that hard. I squint, shift either way, and widen my eyes in an attempt to focus better. Ergghh; it doesn’t matter anyway, every day is the same: it starts with a sunrise, ends with a sunset, and is filled with STUPID, HAPPY SUNSHINE- I hate it.
If only one day could start in Total Darkness or with .. Fire Raining down from the skies and burning all the innocent people’s houses and ..geez, I’m being unusually dark, sorry, nevermind.
I stop fantasizing about alternate universes and start arguing with the parts of my body responsible for getting me out of bed in the morning; somehow, though I always seem to win to the battles, I feel as though I’m losing the war. I walk upstairs and look blankly into the refrigerator in hopes that the exact perfect breakfast for me will materialize if I only stare a little longer . .. …nothing. I close the fridge and turn to the cupboards in similar hopes. .. again, nothing. Realizing my defeat, I accept the fact that I will simply have to make my own breakfast, stupid communist…. reality, always making me do things in order for them to be done.
"Okay, let’s see what we got." I re-open the fridge and this time only hope for a millisecond that my breakfast will be there; it’s not. There are, however, some eggs, two gallons of milk (one Vitamin D, the other 2œ several half-empty (yes, half-Empty) bags of bread, a block of cheese, some day-old Chinese take-out, and an industrial-size jar of Mayonnaise for some reason. "Well,… eggs and toast it is then." I announce with false enthusiasm. Oh, who am I trying to kid here? I’ve eaten eggs and toast for the past three days in a row! I hate eggs and toast. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.
Three minutes later as I’m watching my eggs cook I wonder if it’s possible to actually die from boredom; I don’t assume there’d be much of a rush for a test audience, but some research definitely needs to be done on the subject.
"This is my brain on drugs." I say to myself in a sarcastic, yet serious tone. Hmm, last time I checked though, a brain on drugs was more like a series of neuro-receptors either refusing to send the signals received from outside stimuli or modifying the signals in such a way that it makes the body appear as though it were flying, dying, swimming, spinning, falling, shrinking, transforming into a llama, sinking into the carpet, having the Most Intricate conversation you’ve EVER had with a shoe, or many other symptoms depending on the drug, so just What The Hell do my stupid eggs have to do with that I ask myself in an angry Apostrophe. "Whoa, gotta flip the eggs." How did I Ever manage to work as a Café Cook? I grab my toast out of the toaster, it’s not fully toasted, but it doesn’t matter- I won’t enjoy it anyway.
When you eat the same thing repeatedly, you start to notice more things about it, not particularly good things either. I can taste the burned butter on the membrane of the egg yoke, I can taste the yeast that was used to leaven the bread, I can taste the remnant of whatever was last cooked in the pan where I cooked my eggs, and finally I can taste the inside of my own mouth as it writhes and convulses in order to choke this monotonous meal down my throat.
Where is my family? Isn’t it their job to entertain me when I’m in such a mood as I am? Is that not, in essence, "what families are for?" They’re probably all off "working" or whatever they always say they’re doing. I guess I will have to do my best to entertain myself, let’s see… hmm. A good walk around the condos always seems to cheer me up; that’s a lie, but I’m sure it’ll waste some time. I put on my extremely self-personalized hoody and step outside into the cold and uninviting morning/afternoon; for a moment I have second thoughts about this whole "walking" thing. Then I remember what lies for me back inside: an empty condo, some mindless television, and a guitar I’ll probably never learn to play well (this all classifying as a "third thought"). So upon my Fourth thought I decide to stick to the original plan.
As I wander about, I see that nobody else was dumb enough to go outside on a day such as this. There’s a couple cars speckling the parking lot, a few of them are even decent enough to steal, not that I would, I’m just saying. The paint on the condo walls is cracked and peeling like the skin on a sunburned tourist (shudder- bad mental image). I pause as I pass under some stairs and remember how I used to hide beneath them at night after doorbell ditching somebody with my friends as a kid. Those were simpler times; ehh, listen to me already sounding like a dumb old..
I’m about to finish insulting myself, when something- or rather someOne- on the miniature golf course catches my eye, it can’t be. I start to walk over, but she sees me and takes off running.
"NO WAIT!" I yell, but she doesn’t even seem to hear me. Before I start chasing after her, I have to make sure that I have some reason to. "Sun Yi!"
She looks back only briefly, but it’s enough; I start to run toward her, she jumps the fence onto the WolfCreek Golf Course. Is she crazy, they have cameras all over that place, she’s bound to.. Oh screw it. I jump the fence and head after her at full speed. I don’t know why she’s running, I just want to talk to her, find out who she really is and how she knows me. Man, she can run fast. She disappears into some trees up ahead, HA! So she thinks she can lose me in some trees, huh? Little does she know that I used to hunt for golf balls All around these trees when I was a little kid, back before the cameras.
I enter the trees and slow my pace as to not run into one of them. "Sun Yi? I just wanna talk; what’re you doing here? HOW did you get here? And most importantly, WHY are you running from me?" I wonder if this Sun Yi speaks English… eh, doesn’t matter. What’s important is she can hear my voice and I’m being as sincere as I can. I hear a twig snap behind me, I spin to try and catch her, but she’s not there. I turn back around and continue my hunt. "Sun Yi, I promise I’m not going to do.. whatever it is you’re so afraid I’m going to do to you. So if you could just come out, that would be great." Silence.
After ten minutes of searching amongst the silent trees, I’m about to give up and head home when it occurs to me that I don’t know exactly which way home is… or why it took me ten minutes to search what looked like a relatively small grove of trees, or why I can’t seem to see anything but dead, pale trees all around for quite some distance. I tense up, another twig snaps behind me. I really wish they’d quit doing that.
"sun yi?" I ask in hopes of a pleasant end to an otherwise quite unfavorable experience.
"Soon yee? Don’ know enabody by that name ‘round here." The response is very nasal and raspy, needless to say, I’m afraid to turn around. "You lost boi?" I don’t know what will be worse, confronting the person standing behind me or the terrible uneasiness I’m getting from not looking at him. "I said, ‘Are you lost, boi?’"
"N-No sir I just.." the words are stolen from me as I turn around, along with my breath and ability to hide my terrified expression. The man before me is short, scruffy, missing teeth, and wearing several gray woolen coats that match his mangled, thinning hair. One of his eyes is slightly protruding and staring straight ahead as opposed to the other which is, unfortunately, staring directly at me which, also unfortunately, happen to be staring at his unusually large and bulbous stomach. It’s as though he has Botulism or something.
"You starin’ at somethin’ boi?" He glances quickly at his stomach then back to me.
"I.. I, … no, I just .."
"Yeah, you jus, you jus nothin,’ what’re you doin’ out here in these wuds enyhow?"
"I jus.. I mean, I thought I saw somebody out here and.. I was looking for them, but kinda … got lost in the process."
"Well, congrajulations, ya found somebody." He spreads his arms wide to mockingly present himself. "Might not be who yer lookin’ for, but ya found somebody, that’s what’s importint rilly." At this point I am confused as to whether I should be afraid or just upset; none of this is really making sense. "Now you may think that nunna this is rilly makin’ sense, but .." he looks around, with one of his eyes, "here, sit down, lemme tell ya somethin.’" I sit because, in all honesty, I’m almost as interested to hear what this nut job has to say as I am afraid that he’s gonna kill me. "Here, hav some of muh sanwich." He rips off a portion of his sandwich, which doesn’t look all too disgusting, and extends it before me expectantly. I open my mouth to say "No thanks." But his expression tells me that he would just say, "I wasn’t makin’ an offer." I reluctantly accept the piece of sandwich and try my best to look like I’m enjoying it as it’s swallowed. He starts, "Now believe it er not, I wasn’ ulways as crazy as I am today. No, I was once just as sane as the next guy and I didn’t just wake up one day all crazied-out either; it was a reeeeel gradjul decline, ya see." He makes a downward sloping motion with his hands and creates what I can only assume is his version of a smile. "First I started seein’ thins: people, busses, dogs, bats, knives, ull sortsa thins were chasin’ me or… talkin’ ta me or Biting me evun. Then the world itself started ta do thins, like vibrate under muh feet or split Wide open er, er evun melt as uh walked over it- scary things happen when your crazy, can’t tell what’s real. Ha! Hell, evun you could be a figment of muh eemajination right now. HaHA, hehe heh, heh heh, ohhh ho ho heh hleh kehck krrrohgggk-eh, hem." He clears his throat and continues laughing quietly to himself and shaking his head as though he was completely dismissing me as a real person.
"Hey, hey I’m not fake… or crazy, touch me, I’m real, see?" I offer my arm in protest.
"Yeah, yeh, that’s wut they all say."
"Fine," I stand up, "then I’ll just leave." I turn away and start to walk.
"Just one more thing though." I stop walking, but don’t give the decency of turning around to face him, "You’ll never make it outta here alive Kirk." I spin around as fast as I can, but he’s already gone. I check behind some of the trees even though they’re all too thin to hide his large, awkward frame anyway. He had disappeared, into Fat air.
They say that when you’re lost, the best thing to do is stay where you are and you will have the best chance of being rescued. But no one will even notice that I’m not around for quite some time because I’m always aloof; it could be days before anybody even knows I’m lost. Oh man. .. then it hits me, my cell phone! I frantically search my pockets until I come to remember that I had left it on the charger this morning. "I don’t want to talk to anybody else this morning." I had thought to myself; how ironic, because of that stupid telemarketer that I chewed out I didn’t want to talk to anybody else; but now that I’m lost, I NEED to talk to someone else, anyone else- stupid karma.
Several thoughtless minutes pass and I decide that I’m better off trying to find a way out of here myself than waiting for somebody to find me, especially if it’s that creepy, old homeless guy again. I shiver, partly because of the cold, partly because of the mental image that appeared when I thought of him again. The trees around me seem to be getting closer and closer no matter what direction I’m heading, I definitely do Not remember these trees being this scary when I was a kid; nor do I remember that ..wooden thing over there. …Wait, what is that wooden thing over there? The closer I get, the more it changes; at first it kind of looked like a large stump with some leaves over it, then it looked like a crate on an angle also with some leaves over it, and when I finally got to it, I realized what it was… A Door… (with some leaves over it).
It looked like one of those old, wooden double doors that go down into a cellar or bomb shelter or something, but what would it be doing in the middle of all these trees? I wonder what’s inside? …I look around; well, it can’t be anything worse than what’s out here, that’s for sure. I brush off some of the leaves and find the handle; it’s round and rusted, cold to the touch.
"Here goes nothin.’" I say aloud as I tug open the door. An eerily warm gust of wind blows out from the darkened stairwell. I’m having seconds thoughts about this, but then I think about the Going For A Walk scenario this morning and decide that second thoughts are pointless to have. "Hello?" I ask, half-hoping for a response… there is none, of course. Who on earth, besides me, would be in a creepy, old underground thing on a day like this? No one, that’s who. I take a deep breath and start my way down the stairs lit only by the dim light coming through the now-opened door behind me. I can see the bottom of the stairs not far ahead, there appears to be an abrupt turn where the stairs end. Each step I take, I can feel my personal bubble expanding several inches so that by the time I reach level ground at the end of the stairs if so much as a grasshopper were to jump ten feet in front of me, I would probably wig out and scream like a Little Girl. I pause at the bottom of the stairs and await any clever insects that might come my way… nothing, nothing but a sudden cold breeze that rushes past me, up the stairs and out the door. I shiver again, this whole thing is just getting a little too sc.. BAMMM!!! I whirl around in full defense mode to save myself from whatever is about to attack me, but I can’t see anything, the door must’ve closed. I grope around blindly for something familiar and listen for impending doom… but nothing comes, nothing makes a noise.
My eyes slowly start to adjust to the darkness, there’s nothing up the stairs; I turn to see what’s around the corner, nothing but a long, skinny corridor. I stifle my breathing for a second to listen closer for any sign of something else down here; there’s a very quite rushing sound, like running water at the end of the corridor. What is this place? My curiosity gets the best of me and I start to head down the corridor, subconsciously running my fingers along both walls as I walk. The walls are made of rough stone, they’re cold and dead, just like the trees. When I’m only three feet from what looks like the end of the corridor, I can hear the sound quite distinctly, gushing, gurgling, it sounds like and underground river. I take the last few steps to the end wall, the ground I’m standing on feels concave and uneven; I put my ear against the wall- it’s wet. I dry off my ear then brush my fingertips from the side wall to the ceiling to the other wall and finally to the ground- it’s wood. I crouch down and listen, I can almost see something through the cracks in the wood; I can hear the noise louder than ever, it’s definitely a.. CRACKK!! There’s a split second where my feet and legs are falling, but my head and body stay where they are- almost vertigo. Then, I’m falling, every part falling, backwards. I feel the sound of the rapid water get closer, my foot goes in first- the water is ice cold. Then my legs and torso; I feel a sharp, forceful stab coming from all directions as it reaches my chest and neck. And as my head hits the water, I can’t tell if it’s simply the impact and the cold or if there’s a rock. Either way, everything goes black- even blacker than before, and that’s saying something.
"¿Muchacho?" Something really odd happens to me when I pass out; I’m not sure if I have out-of-body experiences or if my mind just creates a story for what happened to me during the time I was passed out because it hates thinking that it doesn’t know. "¿Muuuchaaaacho?" I hear this voice.
"Pienso que él está muerto, hombre." Says another voice.
"No. El no está muerto, mira el pecho que mueve. Estúpido." I feel a hand cup my jaw and jiggle my face. "¿Estas bueno señor?" I finally make an effort to open my eyes and sit up.
"I’m fine, thanks." I look at their extremely confused faces. "I mean, estoy bueno… gracias." I close my eyes and rub them because everything looks blurry, but even when I reopen them, I still can’t see very well. There are two Mexican men crouched down beside me, one looks to be about 15; the other is about 20 or so. I’ve been dragged out of the river and onto some uncomfortable rocks; I look across the river and see cars driving past and a mountain behind them. I’m on the Ogden River Parkway, by Dinosaur Park. … how the HELL did I get here. It’s at this point in time that my brain either creates or recollects the story: I fell from the corridor, passed out, got knocked about a lot in the underground river, came out that giant water escape hole by the dam, and floated somehow undamaged to my current location at which time these helpful Mexican fellows pulled me out and tried to resuscitate me. The story seems to check out, but when I try to stand up, I see that I was incorrect on one vital aspect- the whole "undamaged" thing. I take one look at my gashed and bleeding legs and arms then quickly lose my balance; the older Mexican man reaches over and catches me.
"WHOA! Ho ho, tenga cuidado, mi amigo. Aquí, se sienta por favor." I take the man’s advice and sit down, then lay down, then close my eyes- again it’s dark. Only this time I’m right above myself, watching the two men pull me up onto the grass; the older one takes off his over shirt and tears off strips of it to cover my wounds. OW, the salty sweat is probably going to sting like hell when I regain consciousness. They lift me up and put me in the back seat of their old white truck. I follow them as we drive up the scenic by-way to 20th Street, I hope we’re not going to the hospital- hospitals cost Waaay too much for my current budget, which is currently nothing. The truck drives straight, across Harrison Boulevard, and down several streets to a small, derelict house with one leafless oak tree in the front yard. The two men take me inside and onto a mattress in the north-east corner of a little room with an empty closet and a poorly-repaired window. I hover above myself for quite a while to let myself sleep and continue to imagine myself floating above me.
I wake up and feel as though I hadn’t fallen asleep at all; I hate that feeling, it’s like being robbed. "OW!" I look down at the bandages and sure enough, they sting like hell. I look out the tiny window; it’s still dark, really dark; however, my night vision is allowing me to see unusually well. I look around for a clock because it feels like morning even though it’s.. I stop in mid thought. A morning starting in Total Darkness? Could it be? I limp out of the room where I had been sleeping and into the living room where, for some reason, the whole Mexican family is gathered and crying uncontrollably; the grandmother, the babies, the children, the parents, all of them.
"WHAT!?" … "er, ¡¿QUE?! ¿Que.. uh, es el.. problemo?" I scream at them- very confused- but they don’t even seem to notice me, they’re all just crying and staring at the television. I try to make out what’s going on; the reporter on the TV is frantically rambling on about something in Spanish and keeps getting interrupted by loud, brief moments of static. I give up trying to understand what he’s saying and just look in the lower left side of the screen for the time, 8:26 AM? 7:25 AM? 9:..95 AM? It didn’t matter, I could see the AM and that’s all I cared about. I look around the room and notice that though none of the lights are on, the room seems to be lit just fine. Alright, that’s it, I’m getting out of here. I scuttle outside to find several people in Pajamas and other morning attire lining the streets; some are speaking very intensely amongst themselves, others are pointing and staring at something in the Morning/Night Sky. I look up and see the spectacle- the Moon is almost twenty times its normal size and spinning slowly clockwise.
"I’m not crazy," I tell myself. "that creepy old hobo must have slipped me something in the sandwich, I should’ve known not to eat that damn sandwich." Oh well, a little late for Second Thoughts now though; all I can do is just act as though nothing weird is happening so that if someone talks to me I won’t seem crazy. This will go away. I start walking- any direction, it doesn’t matter. The road beside me starts to move and churn. "Uh uh uh; I don’t think so." Oops, that one just slipped out. Nothing weird is happening I tell myself, just remain calm. The imaginary awe-struck people that I’m passing by start to turn into shadows- I don’t know if this is a good or a bad thing. I keep walking. Hmm, maybe some whistling will brighten my spirits; I whistle a little tune and start to calm down a bit, much better. Just then, I notice a Giant Airplane approaching at a ridiculous speed and angle, HOLY CRAP! It’s gonna crash! Is this real? Should I warn everyone or just pretend it’s not happening?….. My Heart is racing like a Humming Bird, a really terrified Humming Bird. Ummmm. UUUUMMMM! "EVERYBODY! LOOK OUT!!"
Everything stops: the Plane, the Moon, the Shadows’ whispered Conversations, the cracking Road, Everything.
I look around, "I’m not crazy… I’m really not.." I look down and feel Time skipping forward slowly like a Broken Record. What the Hell is going on? I hear the Plane explode and look up to see Fire Raining down on all the Innocent People’s Houses; did I really ever say I wanted this?
The Sidewalk starts to degenerate, but I don’t mind; in fact, I sit down on it as I start to sink. What must I look like to sane and sober people right now? A deranged young man sitting in the middle of a sidewalk staring blankly at nothing worth trying to guess? That bothers me. I want to know what I look like right now. The cold, uninviting concrete starts to envelope my chest and shoulders, where will this event take me? To another Strange Environment? To Tokyo and Sun Yi? Or is this my brain’s way of coming up with a story to tell my body as I’m Physically Dying in the Sane and Sober World? That’s a depressing thought. …Wait, that’s more than depressing, I don’t want to Die! I start to struggle against the overbearing, relentless cement as it reaches my chin but it’s too strong, I can barely move. I take one Last Breath and Close my eyes before I feel the rest of my head goes under the surface. The Silence and Pressure build up as I sink further and further down into the abyss. Should I open my eyes? Will I even be able to see anything? My breath starts to expire and my thoughts start to simplify. What will people think when they find my body? How will I be remembered? Did I live a Good Life? Was I too hard on that Telemarketer? ..There was so much I still wanted to do. … I kind of have to pee too. What a terrible Last Thought.
My Eyes burst open and I gasp for Air; there’s a light, it’s tall and narrow, I feel really warm and hear music. What is this place? I look at my hands and arms, no gashes, no scars- what’s happening? I’m filled with a sudden, indescribable feeling; I sit straight up and look around- my room? My digital clock reads 12:42 PM. Ah… Ah HAHAHA, eh, HEH Heh! Ohhhh, "morning," I think to myself. "my Old nemesis."
