WPCA - Story Something Vol 1

I go back, and I try to remember a time when it was all good, when it all made sense and I wasn't just attempting something mindless and worthless as the pursuit of home. I remember hearing somewhere that home is where the heart is. Well I had mine torn out, so now I was trying to find just that, home. In a realm of horrifically real sci-fi b-movie quality realities and dimensions, I traversed them all, looking for that one place that was home. I saw demons and angels, men and machine, beautiful and horrific creatures both. I amassed knowledge as I slid away to become another of the forgotten, slipped through the cracks of reality. Falling from one realm of what is real to the next, always gaining a kind of mass and yet never exploding. Feeling like I was being pulled inexorably toward some kind of black hole that sucked me dry, and still I wasn't more than the husk of my former self. And I stop, staring at some barren wasteland of an Earth I never knew, and I remember.

It began like most mornings where bad things happen, as depicted in Hollywood movies that all can understand and empathize with--I woke late, I was panicked as I rushed for work, I spilt coffee on my favorite shirt. No, stop, rewind, it was tea, I don't drink coffee. And it wasn't on my shirt, it was on my lap. I purposely scolded my nutsack in the hopes of feeling the pain to divert my frustration at being late and to give myself a better reason for being late other than to say to my boss, "So, yeah, like, I overslept. And I fucking have this witch of a wife at home, and she drives me fucking insane."

Only, he doesn't want to hear about my personal problems. Not about the wife who doesn't love me. Five years unhappily married. What the fuck was I thinking when I jumped in with that whore? But back on track. Late to work, boss reams me out, tells me I'm the usual--a dickless wonder that should be grateful for the job I got, despite the fact that I work my ass off for peanuts. Fucking peanuts! I'm not some bloody circus elephant he can wave a baton at and make do tricks! I'm not a fucking animal, but by then I'm roaring back at him. Screaming something along the lines of, "Fuck you, asshole. Take this job and shove it up your ass! Oh, wait, it won't fit 'cause your head's already stuck up there!"

I walked out.

Bad day just got worse. I ended up driving around hitting on every chick I saw that day. I didn't go home, either. Not to that cunt of a woman. Fuck, I'd rather cut my cock off than see her slimy, greased up face. Nor that hair, or her body. How could I have ever actually said I loved her? Where did I go wrong? Was there some higher power wreaking havoc on me for some past transgression that I didn't get the memo for?

I ended up on the University Campus. Don't ask how. I had hit up a liquor store somewhere along the line, gotten myself pissed drunk. I'm still surprised I remember that much. Most of it's a blur. Went to the bar, hit on chicks, made out with chicks, vomited on chicks, got kicked out of the bar sometime around two in the morning. Time to go home?

Doing that probably would have saved me more than a new, complete lifetime of woe. Instead, I decided I should commit arson and vandalism and get picked up by the cops. Then have them call that bitch of a woman I'm supposedly married to and have her haul my ass outta jail so she can tell me I'm a worthless human being and that I should be grateful for the small ounces of pussy she gives me in the off chance she actually wants to have sex with me. Uh, no thanks, cheque please!

I did, however, commit the vandalism. I smashed some windows like some rowdy punk who's had too much to drink. Expected. What else? Broke into the theoretical physics lab, some high tech place. Bad idea, right? You can just feel the sci-fi b-movie music playing at this point, like something out of the Twilight Zone, just eerily playing. There's me, on stage, smashing shit with a crowbar, pushing buttons, vomiting and puking my guts all over the flow. Surprise, surprise, its human! How it is able to walk while intoxicated, I haven't the faintest of clues.

This is probably the highlight of my day about now. You can hear the violins screeching away as though this had turned horror and something's about to jump out and rip my still beating heart from my chest and devour it before my eyes. If only life where that simple. I get up off my ass, slip on my own puke, bury the crowbar in some highly technical gadgetry, mashing my fingers along buttons before, low and behold, the grand portal of dimensional jumped grandness jumps up before me.

Too drunk to know what the fuck it is, I think it's a cop with a flashlight. I walk towards it, hearing that proverbial voice saying, "Step into the light!" I did, and I disappeared, and I regret it. It just gets worse.

 

***

 

The ground came up in a rush, black asphalt rising to meet my face and give it a good and proper greeting. Scarped my forehead, my hands, wrists--I was in a bad way. I rolled over then, starring at that vista of blue sky, cloudless and pure, and thought, 'Well fuck me, I must have reached heaven!' Then I remembered the whore of a wife I had, and recalled that any place not with her was heaven, or paradise.

Slack-jawed, I hauled my drunken ass up, getting those wobbly pairs of legs under me and began the slow process of locomotion by which I shoved one leg in front of the other like a robot, jerky spastic motions with grinding limb action in need of some oil. My head lolled to a side like some sick doctor had removed my spin as I waddled hunched over, tongue hanging out and slobbering down all over my dress clothes like the mentally retarded idiot I was.

It was night of the living dead, for I truly would have turned on my fellow man and munched on the scrumptious brains at about that moment. My eyes, I'm sure, had the kind of dead, semi-sentient look seen in zombies, although nobody I know can verify that fact.

Not sure how far I walked. When next the call of consciousness came to me, I was being bumped and jostled like so much meat in the back of a pickup, circa 1930's, a dog sitting their whining away giving me mopy eyes that just scream, 'Love me.' Only, it has the opposite effect on me and I sit up getting ready to lash out when a voice calls from the front cab.

"Hey, Pa, look, he's awake."

I turn me head spying this so-called "Pa" and his brat. Pa wears what you expect a gritty, down-to-earth man who spends his life farming where he to live in the 1930's. He's got a look of trust about him, dependable, stalwart, a wonder of humane morality. His son is freckled, red hair, blue eyes, scrawny with a straw hat. He seems to look at me and think I've got to be God...or Satan, and he's hoping that whichever I am, he wants to buy in and get a plane ticket outta this hell hole. Sorry kid, I don't do jack shit for nobody but me.

"What's your name, sir?" Pa asks.

Now this, folks, is where my cognitive functions fail me, my tongue somehow becomes molasses in my mouth and someone decided it was time to play "Put acid in the fuckers mouth and listen to him try to enunciate his A, B, C's." Lotta fun that was. So, here I am, the mentally fucked and retarded fucker making noises like a squalling brat in the rapture of some God-Forbidden seizure, shaking all over as I try to say my name. The kid starts screaming, Pa pulls over to wonder just what the fuck went wrong with the machinery that is me and I go limp like someone sucked my bones out or turned them to powder. Damn, I wish I had that for a super-power.

I black out. End phase one infiltration into new land by being morally corrupt idiot. Check.