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bluebirdontherocks · 6 years ago

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When I met the devil, when I met God

He circled the block a third time, lost, trying to figure out how he can get out of this loop. A guitar case in his hand, all he remembers is walking for over an hour. Every time he circled around east, looking towards the glowing Sears Tower, he has an urge to walk towards it. But from where he stood, it seem like a long journey.

He goes around the block another time, her face appearing over and over again. A vivid image of a woman in her bed, smile on her face, eyes piercing through his. He sees her; windows opened, wind blowing through the apartment making the curtains flow, and the sun lit up the bedroom shining a golden hue.

The streets of Chicago was filthy that night. Glass bottles everywhere, ticket stubs laying around. Another festival, another night. Group of kids on one side of the street, and a commune of homeless people on the other. The boy remembers being one of those kids. Glow sticks around his wrists, loudly and proudly singing songs he’d just heard from a band he’d just met. The glory of being 20 and untouchable.

He stopped and sat down by the curb, everything illuminating like stars. The street lamps seem to narrow down towards the tower. Lighting up eastwards a strange yellow. It was almost sickening, the lights, but at times it glowed like heaven.

The image came back hitting him harder and harder each time. Same flickering film playing over and over. Blue walls, white window pane, flowing white curtains. The day was beautiful. He couldn’t make out what was outside. All he felt was a sensation of serenity. The girl, she had the face of an angel. But her eyes seem lifeless; sad, tired, damaged. She’d smile and quickly reclaim her composure, pursing her lips, looking away, brushing her hair back. Blanket over her legs, wearing nothing but a white T-Shirt. In that short moment he felt joy and pain. Euphoria bursting through his chest, but quickly sinks back in leaving his heart aching.

He paces his breath, reminding himself he’s on drugs. He told himself over and over again that he’s on drugs. None of that is real. No matter how clear he’s seeing her, how strong those memories felt, he could not, for the life of him, remember this woman.

“Breathe. Just breathe. In and out. In and out. Breathe. Just breathe.”

He picks himself up and walks himself east. He was by the intersection of Jackson and Racine. An empty parking lot to his left, a dance studio to his right. He’d just thrown up at the parking lot. He thought this might be it. This might be rock bottom. This must be what it’s like to see the end of the tunnel; to be so close to the edge he thought he was looking at the end. Just a hole that spirals downward into blackness.

But it was the drug. He knows it’s the drug. As soon as he pulls his mind out of the haze he remembers his life. A rich brat spending money on drugs and booze and cigarettes. He remembers his childhood and all he watched and learned about vices; how they can kill you; how you can fall into a dark rabbit-hole that keeps you falling deeper and deeper. But he remembered when he was fifteen, the death, sadness, and heartbreak. All the darkness that was inherently existing in his reality. He remembered why he toked for the first time. Even knowing the risks and understanding the problems, he toked anyways. It was such a quick escape. All his insecurities, his worries and woes, him and her, they all just leapt and jumped out of the window.

His legs wouldn’t stop. It kept going like a wind-up toy. Each leg moving, cycling round and round. “1 step, 2 steps, 3 steps,” he couldn’t keep up the numbers. He thought if he counted each step, his mind would stay straight. Just for a little. Enough time for him to figure out what he needs to do. But each count was lulling him back to her. Who is she? Where is she from? It must have been a movie. She must be an actor. People can’t create a face out of nowhere. Maybe it was a person he met. But the clearest thing he can grasp wasn’t her, but the feeling during that moment. He knows it’s not real, but he questioned his confidence. Everytime he saw her smiling back at him, it wasn’t happiness he felt. Everything he saw was beauty. But all he felt was gray. Like a cloud drizzling over him, leaving him empty and lost. Maybe if he took another one he’ll see more.

“Hey my man, can I ask you a quick question? Now I’m a homeless man and I’m just looking for anything that can help, sir, if you can do me a favor and just spare me any change would be wonderful.” He takes out all change shaking in his pockets and scrambled it to the man. “Thank you sir, bless you.” He avoided eye contact. All that was running through his mind was all the possible scenarios that could’ve gotten this man to the state that he is in.

At one point this man was just like him. Just a happy-go-lucky twenty-something. Doing the same stupid shit any kid can afford.

What went wrong with him?

What went wrong with this homeless man?

“Young man, are you alright?”

“I can’t talk. Leave me alone.”

“Been there kid.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that.”

“Believe me boy, you’re standing on the edge right now. I remember the feeling. It was like seeing beyond anything real. The feeling like you know something greater than this. But you don’t kid. You don’t.”

The homeless man followed him down several blocks until they passed Greektown. He stopped at a bridge atop the freeway. He watched as the cars raced by underneath him. The homeless man, few steps away, stopped next to him, leaned on the railing and looks at him.

“Got a cigarette?”

“Yeah, Reds okay?”

“Reds will do fine.”

They lit up the cigarettes and started smoking.

“You see, what’s happening to you is kind of a...controlled poisoning, if you will. Each tab you take, your body shuts down a little bit.” He looks at the man, cigarette in his mouth, smoke out the nose. Fuck this guy know about anything. Why is he here? “Now, you’ve heard of all those stories about near-death experiences. People say they see a glowing light at the end of a tunnel. They float through it like a cloud. Everyone they loved and lost waiting for them.” He pulls smoke in, and breathes it out. “Scientists say a cocktail of chemicals in your body gets released making you feel a sense of euphoria. That’s how they explain these images happening.”

“So, what? The drug is killing me. I get it. They teach us that in school.”

“Put it this way. Imagine the near-death experiences were more than just imagination, or memories. Imagine if those people saw the real-deal. The life after this. This drug basically gives you a portal to the otherside man.”

He took a minute to try and process all this. Death, afterlife, drugs. He thought the man might be right. A drug that pushes a person’s physical state to the corner of death. No, it was almost like standing on the top of a well, looking into the eyes of death. In this well he saw the nothing pulling everything in. Life, light, happiness, sadness. All of that. He saw how silly everything was. All the fighting, the yelling. Everyone just wants one thing. To be acknowledged that they exist. They fight over insignificant things, like money, land, property, people. The little details; the little spec of dust relative to world, just because they need someone to prove to them they matter. They exist.

But to exist isn’t to be. Everybody exists. But we all want to be.

Be what?

Be something that burns brightly, and eternally.

The world spiraled into an insignificant dot.

It was so simple. He saw it. It was peace. Nothing. No fight. No pain. No joy.

No love.

But that’s impossible. All he could see was that scene with that woman.

The homeless man finished the cigarette and threw it on the ground, stepping on the cherry. He turned around and began walking back to where he stood. He turned his head and looked at the man. A smile, a wink, turned the corner and disappeared.

“You ready?”

“Yeah man, been talking about it for a while.”

“You sure?”

“Quit asking. Give me the tab.”

His friend handed him this little thing to ingest. They swallowed it and sat there waiting for it to kick in.

“So how long until we feel the effects?”

“The guy told me 30-40 minutes.”

“Shit.”

“Graduating now, right?” His friend chuckles a little.

The mood became a little more somber. He looks at his friend, and his friend looks back. Neither had a smile on their faces. They almost seem nervous. But it was more than that. He knew and his friend knew. They both knew how serious this drug was. Supposedly, it could change lives, for better or worse.

“We’re really doing this huh?”

“Thanks for coming with me buddy.” He knew the possibilities. In 6 hours his brain could be completely fried. Who knows? Maybe he’ll begin understanding the insanity that runs in his family.

He never met his uncle for that reason. A man so crazy he threw money out the window, crying over a married neighbor. Ever since he was a child, he knew his uncle was somewhere locked up.

But is it so crazy? Unrequited love does something to a man. Like his fight wasn’t enough for a woman. And that’s not to say a man shouldn’t fight for what he loves. He remembers fighting for a girl. He remembers spending all his time to be with her. He remembers running to her when she cried. He remembers her telling him none of it was enough. That his efforts were wasted because she met somebody else. Someone else who just popped up, and swept her off her feet. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe he should’ve done something else; said something else; do something to make her realize his love was enough. Maybe he should’ve listened to his friends. Don’t show her all your cards. Don’t become vulnerable. Let her become wooed by your ego before you let your ego be wooed by hers. A woman need to want you before you want her.

What the fuck.

He sat on his couch with his friend when everything began to sink in, literally and figuratively. It was like everything around him became him. He felt every particle in his body, every atom, every heartbeat. The trees and the leaves moved accordingly to the sounds that he hears, echoing constantly and consistently.

“One, two, three,” everything rings outward lessening each cycle, loosening all the thoughts, all the rules. The colors faded in grayer and grayer. It all starts black, then white, then blue, then red, then yellow, then light. Everything light.

“One, two, three,” everything circled into one.

It started with three. Anything that means a damn thing starts with three. You don’t have competitions for two. As for one, that’s just sad. Then there’s nothing. Then what?

What?

“What do you mean, what?”

“What? Why are you yelling?

Why the fuck are you yelling?

Why am I yelling?

“Why?

Why what?”

then life.

Existence is a loop peeling itself over and over and over until the pieces become an unrecognizable mess. All the stories we’ve heard in our lives is all just part of one large narrative that creates meaning for life, or is just there to amuse and confuse people. He realize people were just particles that crave to interact with each other, whether negatively or positively.

Everything. He felt everything. He felt all the pain, all the sadness, all the happiness, all the laughter. He felt everything. At that moment he saw God. And at that moment all his fight, his pride, his ego disappeared. At that moment he realized the tragedy of humanity. The endless trying to change anything was pointless. It was all so silly. What he cared about and what he loved became nothing but a simple story, just like ones he’d read. It became so distant, yet personal. The weight of all the emotions sank in and he wanted to scream. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He accepted that the world will continue with or without him. Tears began to flood, and all he could do is silently scream into the face of God. It was then he realized the pain of being the creator of all life. The notion of knowing all, and loving all, yet not being able to do anything to change the wrongs in the world, simply because the greatest love is free will.

Three is more fun. When he was with him and her, they have a party. It’s a guessing game. Maybe he wants to. Maybe she doesn’t. What about you? The odds are against you, or is it? Maybe she likes you, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he loves you, maybe she hates you.

Two is beautiful, only when you find it. Two can only exist in symmetry. Otherwise it’s just two completely different things. But when you do find the other half, the one that makes two pieces whole, that’s when you can start finding the meaning of life. The 0. The naught. Nada. Nothing

Nothing

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WHY?!

SHE

HEAD

The blue walls

The white window pane

The glowing beam

Her gentle eyes

Deader than you wished they were.

The wind taking her away.

It hurts, it all hurts.

It burns, the image seared into his mind, the girl that keeps him awake; the one that’s burned into his smile.

#life #acid #drugs #music #crazy #pain #love #dream #joy #everything #nothing #story #narrative #Stream of conscious writing #short story

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