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[panopticon-entertainment]

Soap

In which andy tries to find some goddamn soap as Heidi tries to find them.

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All the world felt windblown as andy and Heidi loaded the last of their truck’s worth of possessions. It was all they had; that which they could fit into the space of a moving truck and their shitty little car.

“andy, don’t you think it’s time to just dump some of this stuff?” Heidi glanced at the truck that was much less than full.

“No,” andy said.

“Babe, you haven’t even opened most of these in the last few moves. The dolls; the old lights?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“How long are you going to insist on hauling this around?”

 “How long are we going to keep moving,” andy averted their eyes from the truck.

Heidi held silent. She reached up and pulled down the sliding door. How long were they going to keep moving? How long until they could have a house and more possessions than would fit in a ten-by-ten stolen mover van? She needed to hitch the car to the truck.

“andy, will you pull the car up?” She pulled her keys out of her pocket and proffered them to her companion.

With an exaggerated sway of their hips, andy took the keys and headed down the sloped lawn to the junky car. It had only cost them a thousand to buy, and only a thousand to fix when it got T-boned. It was the best that they could do with such inconsistent income. The one constant they had left: inconsistency.

The slope of this driveway was quite awkward; the car lined up at something like a forty-five-degree angle. Heidi could never quite get the hang of connecting the car to be dragged behind. andy could show her every time and make her do it; she couldn’t do it. She was glad andy had stuck around.

At the house beside them, a car pulled on the driveway. A neighbor. Heidi had deduced that it was a group of friends who lived there. That one boy stood out: that one car. andy watched him with a sharp eye. He had the fluffiest hair they had ever encountered tinted a red red; he was a gangly stick man with tired stoner eyes and tireless acne. He only made eye contact because andy was looking so intently at him. He disappeared into his own house.

Heidi opened the car door and retrieved the car keys. The key ring was overflowing: keys from houses, keys from trailers, keys from apartments, keys from sheds, and keys from jobs. It was obnoxious to carry around.

The sun was hard, and the sky was very very blue, and the grass was really really green. andy wished everything was dead.

“It’s ten hours to the next place,” Heidi’s voice was frigid.

andy just looked at her.

Heidi cleared her throat. She stepped towards andy and gently held their hand leaving little space between them, “we keep moving until we find where no one is after y’all, and I can’t hurt a fly.” She kissed their forehead.

They got into the front of the truck. Heidi put the key in and turned it. There was no second glance; there was no mourning the move. The fender of the car hit the street and scrapped until the truck and the car leveled together on the flat street. Heidi thought them something of a perpetual motion machine: theoretical hearts that would stay in motion until they hit something that’d stick them to it.

It was just finding somewhere that would hold them together. They’d found it once; they’d find it again.

Motion was stillness. Freedom was containment. One was ten.

Heidi wasn’t the best driver of the two, but she could sit still for ten hours; andy couldn’t. Heidi spent a lot of time waiting; driving was waiting with a purpose: a tight space with a purpose and a goal. It was containment and ultimate freedom.

She drove them for hours uninterrupted.

andy slapped her at sundown, “Pull over.”

“I can’t just–“

“Pull over.”

Heidi didn’t make any moves.

“Pull–“

“We’re on the middle of the freeway I can’t–“

andy grabbed the door handle.

“Jesus,” Heidi flicked on the turn signal and touched the breaks as they on the shoulder’s rumble strip slowing to a stop.

andy opened the door to the frigid wind of the open plains. Their feet hit the ground; they slipped on the piled-up gravel on the edge of the road’s plateau but caught themself from falling to the ditch below. They moved behind the truck where there was more ground to stand on than the open air of a fall.

andy stood tall for a moment; Heidi walked out. andy collapsed to the floor. On their knees, they began to heave. Had it not been the transition of light and dark surely reality would have flip flopped as the world began to splinter under andy’s very hands. They heaved up the small amount of food they had scrapped together before leaving. The colors of the world were separating. They covered their mouth and heaved and heaved as something tried to leave their body out of their mouth. A black tar raged against their hand; it raged for light. Containment was freedom.

The blue of the sky rejected the impure colors separating the colors like a broken screen. The whole world was separating as one tried to separate.

Heidi knelt beside them as cars ripped apart the roaring air. She held them around the torso. andy swallowed the separation and swallowed the separation until it returned, and the sky was conjoined dark blue. One: andy’s statistical improbability.

andy stood up on their feet with Heidi’s hands pressed tight on their ribs­­­­–pressing them together. Heidi set her chin on andy’s forehead. They smelt like sugar.

Their truck was back to rolling its tires along the crumbling asphalt rumbling as the sun set.

They had gotten off, or been forced to get off, so late in the day that they started entertaining the idea of stopping at a place off the freeway for the night; well, Heidi entertained the idea for she knew andy didn’t care, and Heidi herself was splintering. For somewhere real shady, they certainly had enough for a night. Who knows? Maybe they could stumble into the right place.

Heidi, on impulse, skidded the truck onto exit two-oh-eight. Right past the nice hotels further into what seemed to be a little hick town: the center of the universe to somebody.

She found a white and green motel just off the residential heart of the city. It wasn’t empty, but it was a far cry from full. Heidi was not a good parker, but diagonally the conjoined truck and car tucked into two parking spaces.

“Are you going to go in?” andy asked looking out of the truck window.

“I shouldn’t,” she reached under her seat and retrieved her frilly little purse.

“You should. The more people see ya, y’know.”

“That’s in large crowds. Not the one poor high school dropout in there. Here’s the card.”

andy felt Heidi put the card into their hand; andy pushed the door open and stuck their legs out into the surprisingly freezing summer night, “If they have a cigarette machine, I’m gettin’.”

“No. We need every cent we can spare for gas. I promise we’ll be at our next home long enough to forage jobs. Hold strong a little longer, baby.”

“You go in.”

“Seriously—”

“What? What is one contact?”

“It leaves a trail.”

andy huffed. They stepped out onto the dirt parking lot. They reached for the black sky to stretch out their shoulders, “and I don’t?”

“No, you—” Heidi ran out of words opting to just look at andy.

They just looked back at Heidi.

“You aren’t gonna do it, are you?”

andy shook their head.

“Fine,” Heidi signed and muttered, “Fine, Joan.”

Heidi got out of the truck as well. The Earth tried to move beneath her feet. She always had to watch her feet in case she mis-stepped on reality’s grid work and fell through the floor. This town felt weak. Heidi hopscotched her way to the sidewalk. She turned back to look at the moody creature that leaned against the truck with their arms crossed. Whatever.

Heidi entered the little office. This place was weak. A humanless face rose to meet her. Instead of a backwall mural there was a backwall void. The person was innocently human before she entered and would be again so wonderfully ignorant when she left. The truth was as unalterable as the fabrication around it. They were nothing more than an automaton that worked and socialized and partied and— wait, Heidi had to say something.

She asked for a room for the night.

The human took her money—the human would go out to the river with their friends tomorrow; they would divulge drama—and gave her a key. (The human would live a life never realizing what reality saw in them). Heidi left—no impact—back out into the night.

­She stepped in a careful pattern to the trunk of the car. She opened it, and subsequently the little cooler that sat inside; the selection was a palette of syringes. She took one and shoved it into her brain. Her body writhed; she dropped what she held; the world came back together. Shivering she gripped the trunk; andy didn’t even come over to look. Heidi locked the car back up.

The motel room was barren and cold. A sickly cactus green theme but with no decorations or beautification it felt they were trapped in a green screen world. It was a single-bed room. Heidi fell onto the sterile and scraggily bed unceremoniously; she was exhausted. She popped of her shoes and half-heartedly loosened her belt. andy paced on the floor; the room ran yellow and blue to her.

andy sat on the bed beside Heidi who was slowly curling into the sheet and losing to unconsciousness. She shivered; andy didn’t hold her. This place was weak, but she was strong; it took a lot to knock either of them down.

andy glanced at her face; not in motion, it displayed a tired frown. She wished it was just green.

They hadn’t seen the color green in…

Two-oh-eight? Was that correct? Was that what the sign read? Was—oh, let it be.

andy swung up their feet and laid themself down. The pillow was a rock, and the bed wasn’t much more than a lump. They looked at their hands; they looked covered in dirt. They crawled back up and went to the little sink separated from the bathroom. Water hurt their eyes, but they let the refractive liquid flow from the faucet down the drain for a few seconds. It didn’t warm up. They plunged their left hand into it first seeing if the pressure would laser off the filth. They gripped it with their other hand. It wasn’t dirt; their hands were just stained.

Was there any soap? Soap. Soap? Soap. They scavenged through every cabinet and drawer they could find. There was no soap. Maybe the office had some? They looked back to the unconscious Heidi whose hand squeezed the pillow beside her like it was the last thing she had on earth. All they were going for was some soap.

They closed the door of the room softly behind them so as for the night air to not sneak up on the unsuspecting sleeper. The beauty of being outside caught andy off guard. The dumb brunette in the office didn’t have any soap. If only air could wash their hands. The air didn’t move all that much in dear little towns; under the black and star-ridden sky, nothing much changed. It was so beautiful—or maybe it was simply deceptive.

Their hands were still stained. Heidi would sleep. Their hands would be stained in the morning. Heidi wouldn’t mind. They didn’t have to pay for it; they’d only be here a moment. Heidi would be fine.

A twenty-four-hour store in a place like this was just employee-fodder. Everyone had to do something. Everyone. andy’s first strategy was simply to visit the bathroom of the store. The store was an assaulting brown. A little red, a little yellow, a little blue, a little of everything. Instead of going in all the way and being inconspicuous, they stood in the area between the doors: nauseous. They just needed soap. On the floor, uneven and sharp, andy stepped like they were stepping on glass.

They found the bathroom and slipped in. They pumped the dispenser until their hand resembled a snow drift. They put their hands together over the sink and started by gently massaging the soap into their skin. They grew more violent as the white soap reflected every color, but the stain wasn’t yielding. They started scraping with her nails. Finally starting the water, they did naught but wash soap down the drain leaving their hands exactly the same as when they had started.

They tried again.

The soap departed their hand as fluffy white as it had been when it came out.

How mad would Heidi be if they woke her up to drive away from police? This soap wasn’t strong enough.

andy left the bathroom. The store was weirdly compact. If their hands were no longer made of skin, they needed something stronger. Maybe acetone; maybe bleach? Nail polish remover was the first thing they saw. They grabbed the bottle and—glancing around for lurking employees—ripped it open. They poured it generously into her hands catching the overflow with her lap.

They scrapped it into their raw palms and fingers; it just stung. It really only stung. The liquid, as it pooled on the floor, was as clear as it had begun. They were growing more and more irritated; they were growing more and more obsessed.

Fucking two-oh-eight.

It had all become so normal so fast.

andy capped the bottle and shoved it into their deep pocket. Cleaning products? Where were they? They made eyes with an employee, and they walked right past. They made themselves look purposed; confidence could mask anything, right?

Cleaning products! They couldn’t recall anything from chemistry as they looked at the chemicals; they didn’t know anything. they did, however, know the letters that spilled out bleach; It cleaned everything, right? They took a bottle popped off the lid; it smelt sweet. They had begun to pour it on their hands.

“Ma’am?”

They jumped so profusely their fingers shorted out, and the bleach fell to the floor and expanded all over. They jittered and dropped to the floor putting their stained hands right into the forming puddle.

The employee grabbed them by the hands and pulled them up. He had the fluffiest hair tinted very red: a stick man with cute little spots of acne.

They tried to stammer out words and the only thing that stammered out was a coarse recognition.

He released their hands, “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Hey? Hey! God, hey, can—do, huh, do you remember me?”

“You look familiar.”

“Uh, uh, high school, yeah, senior year the three classes.”

“Yeah. Sounds right. Yeah, I know you. You gave me your aripiprazole.”

“Exactly, oh my god,” they giggled.

“You look like you still need it,” He had no humor.

They straightened up rubbing their hands together, “It’s good to see you. It’s good to see anyone.”

“I’m still going to have to ask you to leave.”

andy frowned. They looked down at her hands; they were still stained, “Can—well, do you know,” they thrusted their hands back into his, “Do you have anything that’ll clean this off?”

He looked at them, “It’ll grow out when your skin replenishes.”

“No, I need it out now!” They despaired. They bent down and rubbed their hands in the spilled bleach.

He pulled them up again and started walking them out of the store.

“Wait. Wait, wait!” They broke apart from him and stopped, “Do you still work at the theatre at all?”

“No.”

“How—”

“You need to leave.”

andy looked at him with a senseless desperation.

“I’ll let you wash that off your hands first.” He took their arm again and walked them to the front of the store. They swiped a little snack cake from the register area and stuffed it in their pocket.

They broke apart from him again, “I’m fine, thank you.”

He stared at them.

They backed up. Time had changed him. They’d be just a funny story to the automaton’s friends in the morning; they’d be on the road again in the morning.

He made sure they got all the way out into the dark night.

Heidi’s heart restarted forcing her awak. Her nerves tingled from head to toe and her blood grew warm. It was just a room and a bed. Her mouth tasted like sugar; her head felt like gelatin. She looked about the green room for her companion.

She knew the day would come eventually.

Her hand muscles were tight around the bones. She rolled to sit up with her legs over the side of the bed. A little trickle of blood stemmed from her nose. She wiped it away with her hand; more blood kept coming. She let it run down her face and on to her clothes. She’d been still for too long.

She refastened her belt and placed her sweaty feet on the cold faux wood of the floor. She stumbled to find her shoes. She had to untie them then refasten them on her feet. She needed to move. God, she was bleeding so much. Whatever.

Shutting the door behind her, she looked out; the sky wasn’t there. It just hadn’t loaded. Was there no one in this whole town looking up at the night sky? It was time to move and to let the sky know someone cared about it. It was less synthetic than Heidi gave it credit for; it could be kind of hard to tell. She hoped the sky hadn’t offed itself. What would she do without it?

The ground was gridded and textured over as it should have been; she shouldn’t squander this time.

So, she ran.

Their realities were intrinsic, and there was only so much world.

The sky turned on; someone was looking now. There was at least one other person out in the city tonight.

The asphalt road was oddly curved, like it was melting away, but it was solid. Running down the highway, the road looked as endless as the sky. Far off in the distance traffic lights chatted to each other with signals that no cars were looking at. This place was weak.

Why was this where andy had to run off? She may never see them again. She’d run until morning. And, if she was alone, she’d simply drive till she drove off where the sidewalk ended for good. She couldn’t do this alone,

She was a poor runner; she had to stop very soon. She stood panting in front of a store. A twenty-four-hour store? Ridiculous. A town like this was cannon-fodder. She sat down on the cushy curb and stared out into the blank space. The things that existed were the things plastered in harsh lights.

The electric sliding door of the store dragged itself open. Heidi couldn’t help but snap her head to the young entourage gliding out of the store. The leading creature was a large black dog with a dapper little service vest. Its wielder, and the one directly beside her, had a sharp structure. Their eyes were fully white and the sniveling, pathetic creature adjacent to them had no whites to her eyes. Something in their demeanors told her they were who the sky turned on for.

The stature of the dog wielder, the blonde-haired white-eyed, was stout and together as if pressed into a container that was a little too small; she was pretty or had been or would be. That beside her, the green-haired white-eyed, was as if he’d been stretched upwards too much. Their faces were very similar and their bones although distorted from each other were poured from the same mold. Their black-eyed black-haired accomplice had the stature of a fat yet sickly child despite clearly being as tall as a late teenager.

Heidi took the time to survey each of their faces which inevitably invoked eye contact between her at the black-eyed peon. The peon looked away and then swiftly looked back almost disbelieving of the facial structure she was staring at.

The black-eyed pulled on the sleeve of the dog wielder. She was going to brush off the little gremlin, but she pointed at Heidi and as soon as the wielder caught sight, assuming she was seeing and not just sensing, she stopped.

Heidi’s body felt nothing either way.

The dog wielder thrusted her dog’s leash into the Black-Eye’s hands and stepped on the cracks of the sidewalk. She approached very fast and embraced Heidi so aggressively it pulled her to her feet. She coddled Heidi on her shoulder. Heidi didn’t necessarily push away, but she didn’t melt in the way this strange butch expected her too.

“We were about to come storm the castle for you,” She pulled away holding Heidi’s shoulders at arm’s length away, “Girl, you are drenched in blood; what did he do to you?”

Heidi looked blankly at White-eyes.

“Hey,” White-Eye put her hand to Heidi’s cheek.

“I think you got the wrong girl,” Heidi finally stepped away.

“What?”

“I don’t,” her dry throat scraped against itself choking out her words. She swallowed, “I don’t live here.”

Black-Eye and Green-Hair had stepped close enough to survey Heidi. Green-Hair grabbed her arm and surveyed her lumpy and misshapen skin. He released her.

“You look exactly like our missing friend,” he looked at her, “Where did you come from?”

Heidi looked up at the compacting light in the streetlamp, “Oh, I’m just passing through.” She touched her face in habit as was surprised to find her rubbery skin slick and sticky; she had been and was still bleeding.

The expression of surprise went noted by White-Eye, who did not look all together convinced that Heidi wasn’t their friend, “hun, what are you doing out here like this?”

                “Oh,” she wiped at the blood on her face with the back of her hands, “I’m a hemophiliac,” she lied, “I’m fine. I’m—I just got separated from my… friend.”

“Are you gonna bleed out?” Black-Eye asked.

“I took my shot,” Heidi produced the empty needle from earlier—she should have brought another—and returned it to her pocket, “I’m fine.”

There was an awkward pause.

“What’s your friend look like,” White-Eye asked.

There were several images of andy Heidi had in her head—Heidi has lot of images in her head for everything. She grasped for an approximation of andy.

Before Heidi could get anything out, White-Eye seemed to snap to life; the words that came out of her mouth were not visually clear as most words were, “I have an idea—you help us find our friend we’ll help you. We know where our friend is.”

“We don’t need help or to help her,” Green-Hair prodded White-Eye to move on.

“No; He’ll be just as caught off guard by her as we were!”

“That’s a horrible plan; we already have one.”

White-Eye smiled a very off-putting smile to her companion, “He’ll get one look at her and shit Himself.”

“But He’ll know it isn’t her.”

Heidi needed to leave; Heidi needed to indulge. It would be reckless; it would be insanity.

The streetlight popped and the light fell to the ground in harsh pixels. It burned her hand before the area faded to darkness.

White-Eye grabbed onto Heidi by the wrist and elbow of her left hand, “This part of our lives already feels like a stupid movie; will you help us make it a horror for this guy?”

It would be dangerously reckless. They’d have to drive for twenty hours, maybe thirty, to escape the consequences. It had all gotten so normal so fast; she hadn’t even realized until she looked at this girl’s refractive eyes that she had gotten bored. Bored of what? Maybe that wasn’t the right word. What was boredom; what was fun? What was anything. What was pain and what the hell even was affection. What was—

“If you’re alright with losing your mind for a while” Heidi tumbled out. She twitched; she should have said soul.

How far should selfishness go? Should a human prioritize one’s own needs and emotional desires at the stake of everyone else? Didn’t there have to be a natural predator to humans; you can’t be at the top of the food chain forever. Someone is always greater. Something that stays the prey forever will only ever cease to exist, however.

White-Eye was enthused. White-Eye didn’t feel the need to explain that they had already lost their minds; had they lost their souls yet, though? The theoretical heart of it all, were they ok with loosing that?

Heidi couldn’t connect her emotions to her current situation, but something at this moment condemned her to not care so much about the protection of the average soul-driven human that appeared not much more than an automaton to her. It was an odd sort of honor to be part of a night that would influence these kids’ realities and feeling for as long as a forever remembered it.

This place was weak.

Two-oh-eight.

andy rubbed the palm of their hands on the cracking and breaking asphalt of a residential road. How many layers of skin deep was this dirt? They had just kept walking; They had just kept moving. This town had thirteen parks: ten public restrooms with soap.

The first they had come across looked at if it was some divine temple. One beautiful, sterile streetlamp placed in the middle of the park shone down on the grimy stone structure. Like a little fly, andy had gone towards the light and into the stone. There were no mirrors; the sinks were more like troughs. Every item was bolted down. There was soap.

The soap stung andy’s raw hands badly; it made them think it was doing something. The black stain was stolid as ever.

They sat on the stone floor of the bathroom with their head in their hands. Their mind was vacant but for a dull tide of thoughts chattering to each other. One trying to reach an idea of importance so it may speak out to andy and say, “this is why this was happening.” andy was waiting for some grand epiphany or some grand depressing truth.

There was nothing but incomprehensible chatter. They felt like a bus driver. A mind so focused on movement but the persistent knowledge that far more interesting things were happening just behind them–things happening beneath them.

They eventually moved on from bathroom number one. They passed the ghost of a house; so washed out and so alone. Further down, a house whose spirit seemed condemned to hell waiting for someone to come back to it. They passed a lot of houses. A hundred, maybe even a thousand if they walked far enough—stories closed off behind private walls. They’d have like to have heard some of those stories. They hadn’t heard a good story in a while.

They kicked off their shoes; the shoes were so worn. Their socks quickly followed abandoned in the gutter. Their feet on the sharp road felt… just felt. There were so few colors in the world at this moment. The lack of light equaled the lack of colors. Things were more cohesive in the dark. More put together and more comprehensible—simpler.

They had learned it was better living in the dark.

They didn’t care what the stain was; They just wanted it gone. They didn’t care that this was the two-oh-eight; They just wanted—

They found themselves standing at the edge of a block standing in the middle of the road in front of a large brick structure which forced the road into a tee not a cross. People went to high school here a very long time ago. Wouldn’t that have been neat?

andy looked up above to the streetlamp that was as bright as the sun. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but it certainly burned their retinas. They could tell the grass beneath it was so very green by how sharp the yellow was against the red tones of their own skin. Under the light, their skin was separating more and more from itself. The colors were hanging out.

They crossed the street quickly. They didn’t need to look both ways; there was nobody out. They were getting nauseas. They thought about knocking on the door to simply see who was in there—see what was made of the inside of the school. They’d always wondered. In front of the door was a large semicircle with a rusted empty flagpole in the middle. They approached it and fastened their hands on it.

For a brief moment, several other hands held the flagpole with them.

They released it.

They dropped her arms ferociously against their thighs irritated, sleep deprived, and hungry; something crinkled. The snack cake! The snack They had stolen from under his nose—they thought he ought to be more appreciative of them—was still in their pocket.

They tore the thing open. It was red and white so they figured it must have been some shade of pink; it didn’t matter. They took a bite of it and their sad little body perked up a little at something sweet inside their mouth. The sugar intake usually would have made them feel sick, but, tonight, it alleviated their nausea.

They scarfed the thing down the moment it offered some kind of pleasure at all. The intense desire for soap dissipated; they just wanted to consume more. They had the appetite of ten people. They had been so poor for so long. andy certainly hadn’t been skinny when they met Heidi. Their goal in mind changed. They just wanted to eat.

They thought about knocking on the big brick house for a moment longer. They seemed at rest; they’d walk onwards. The sidewalk around this property was rough but not unpleasant. A sidewalk that was hyper-smooth was just as bad as one that was nothing but gravel. This one was well loved and cared for. They felt around their mouth with their tongue cursing the bittersweet aftertaste of the cake as it faded in all too fast.

They kept walking onwards; they were looking for something friendly. After a minute or so, they came to another tee in the road. A wide and usually busy rural road. They could tell because under their feet this road was very smooth. They wanted to tightrope along the dividing lines of the road but apart from a blocky cross walk there weren’t any. Odd such a busy road wasn’t separated. So, they found the seam of the road and stepped heel over heel on that.

There were a few dismal streetlights that spotlighted specific points along this lanky road; all displaying a different set of separating colors on separating land masses. There weren’t many houses on the road. Only, to their right, a large blue and green highlighted tan bricked aych. That wasn’t interesting. It was; they wouldn’t let themselves be interested.

They continued to walk slowly watching their feet. More colors began to creep in—to swim in. Dim yellows and reds trying to make orange. A very light blue and more and more as white light crept up on andy. They didn’t turn around as the two beams of light came from behind. That is until the screech of old breaks played feet behind them.

andy turned around and stared into the beams that were conjoining and splintering and mixing and melting. Behind them was an irritated driver; some woman who didn’t have time for this. andy was dazed by the motion and excitement of the colors of the lights. The car jerked so Woman could simply bypass the poor, shoeless figure.

Woman abruptly stopped now beside andy. She rolled down the window—irritated, but shocked—and called andy by a name.

andy’s voice cracked as they called a name back.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Heidi was already seeing reality’s gridwork again by the time they had made it to the absolutely trashy subdivision that appeared to be the goal of the solid eye trio. Heidi hadn’t been able to gather much information; White-Eye’s words stung her eyes so bad that she couldn’t look at her. But without that visual, her audio was fuzzy like a walkie-talkie that had dropped on the sidewalk a few to many times. Simply, it was incomprehensible.

Heidi was sat in the back beside Black-Hair, who said nothing. If Heidi looked at her long enough, her own skin rippled, and she became itchy. Heidi watched Black-Hair scratch her skin for minutes at a time trying to, without realizing it, alleviate herself of her own skin. Heidi, in flashes, could see that Black-Eye was always supposed to be something worse. The distaste the white-eyed siblings had for her seemed to only be the beginning of the things she deserved.

They parked in the small line of parking around a tiny square of what seemed to be park land underneath a dead streetlight. The road was coarse and full of holes. White-Eye let her dog out first letting him growl as he sniffed the dried-out grass. Green-Hair’s footsteps, whenever he hit the asphalt, emitted a soft gunshot.

Heidi thought that somewhere in there, White-Eye has said her friend’s name. Somewhere in there, she’d explained what they were doing. She’d wing it. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but the skin around many of her fingernails had taken up the gauntlet; her fingers were crusted in blood.

Mouth to ear, White-Eye pointed out which house down the abyss was the one. She didn’t need the extra hearing damage: it was the only blob that loaded on either side of the balance beams that should have been the road.

Heidi set her balance and delicately walked the distance. She wondered what color the house was; she wondered if it was nice. She stepped onto the gridwork that was probably cement steps to the patio. She centered her feet and popped her knuckles. She knocked six times on the door.

It was a minute or so before the door swung even a little. It didn’t open all the way as a lock chain kept it still. Heidi met eyes with solid yellow eyes. Heidi tilted her head to make sure he could see her entire visage; she understood that was important. She really wished she’s brought another shot. This place was weak.

He seemed about to speak before he had the chance to absorb her face. He pushed in the door and undid the chain. He opened the door.

To Heidi’s surprise, the house was entirely loaded. While he surveyed her, she took in every detail of the house interior she could. Every piece of trash, every blanket, all of it. She could see it, and so she registered it.

She didn’t register him talking; no sound came out of his mouth. When he spoke louder to get her to answer him, she could see decipherable letters floating around.

“What are you doing here, kid.” His words said.

A separate set of words reflected in his eyes. Heidi read, “Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I want you. Yes.”

His being had a sort of glaze to it: not quite shocked but unnerved. He stepped back into his house and left the door open for Heidi.

His mouth didn’t move, but his words said, “you decided you can take me?” his demeanor invited her in.

Heidi took the steps into his house, and, swiftly, he closed the door behind her. He spoke, but she didn’t hear; she really didn’t care. From behind, he put his hands on her shoulders. He shifted so his side touched hers and one of his arms went across her shoulders. He began walking her.

They walked to a hallway. His body language was suggestive.. He opened the door of a room and—

His unnerve took over his body; the motions he repeated fell through.

Heidi stepped into the room with wide eyes. She stepped up and down on her feet double checking that this room was sound. How could this house be so solid and yet—

Heidi turned to see him fallen clutching the wall. She didn’t mean to. She didn’t mean to, but her soul was so shocked. No matter how solid the house was human souls were not. He had no face; his head was dumping his better mind out of his ear jolting is head to the side in rapid fashion.

He would be fine when she left… hopefully.

Heidi turned back and too knelt on the floor next to… herself.

The perfect vision of herself laid on her side one arm reaching out and her legs stretched. Her eyes were closed. Her stomach had been ripped open, and her organs draped out. Her face was bruised, and her arms were cut. Her knees were profusely bruised, and the skin carpet-burned off; her legs were skinned. It looked just like Heidi down to the hair.

Heidi stared at this unholy visage.

She left the room.

The house was still solid. Heidi stood against the wall in the main room that divided to that hallway. She saw herself dead. She saw… somebody dead. Somebody—

Was that andy?

An array of picture frames on a single well-kept bookshelf caught her eye. The display was pristine. It must have been someone’s else. Heidi picked up the picture that had caught her eye.

Him and andy.

She looked around.

andy, His brother, and… Heidi?

A group school photo. andy, Him, His brother, the solid eyed trio, Heidi and more. Class of—

Heidi looked back at the photo she held. She peeled it out of the frame; she peeled them all out of the frames and placed them in the tit pocket of her shirt.

This house was strong, but it wasn’t real; it was just a soul.

She walked out of the house and stood on the gridded porch. She looked around, and it was barely a second before White-Eye was face-to-face with her. Heidi had to avert her eyes as she spoke.

Heidi muttered out, “He’s out. She–“

White-Eye ran into the house.

Heidi tried to reach out for her but… she’d have to learn some way.

It was a minute, Heidi counted, before White-Eye came out of the house. Her eyes were pouring white liquid, and her hands covered her mouth. She walked past her twin and her enemy. Green-Hair and Black-Eye looked back to Heidi. She solemnly shook her head letting them know their friend was already dead.

Black-Eye followed her closely. Heidi took her steps off the porch.

Green-Hair took a few steps and then turned, “Sorry, we can’t help you,” he said with a tear of his own in his voice.

Heidi nodded.

He began to walk.

Heidi jerked, “wait!” she walked to him, “this girl,” she took the pictures from her pocket. She handed him the picture of His brother, andy, and the white-eye’s friend. She pointed to andy, “You know her?”

He looked at the picture, “Kate, right? Is that who you’re looking for?”

Heidi nodded.

“I think her sister still lives here; she might be there.”

“Where?”

“Uh… somewhere by the high school on the side with the dentist.”

Heidi nodded, “thank you.”

Green-Hair nodded. He then tore off to follow his twin leaving Heidi alone in the darkness.

She could feel bruises on her face and knees. If she touched them, they weren’t on her; they were laying on the floor of stranger’s house on a stranger’s body. Heidi could feel it. She was tempted to turn around and stare at her for the rest of the night. It was just another dead girl; she’d get the chance to stare at one again.

She needed to find the high school. She began wandering again.

She looked back down at the photo; tears came to her eyes.

The photo was morphing. The photo had morphed. The photo, reality, had morphed into something Heidi wanted to see.

A beautiful summer day with a beautiful ring of trees. The cracked up, weed covered, circular sidewalk didn’t interfere with the glory of the metal arch weaved around with flowers—the golden mats that hid the grassless dirt beneath them. She saw herself very alive and much younger. She’d worn the veil and the extravagant white dress; she really loved that dress. A twenties styled dress her grandmother had worn as well. Her white gloved hands held the bare, calloused hands of her beautiful wife. andy wore the top half a lovely golden gown as a leotard and a wooden cage as a transparent skirt. Their short hair covered with a golden hat.

Their wedding had been a golden thematic mess, but it was everything Heidi had ever wanted and at the end of the night she had the beautiful Andrea forever beside her. The original copy of this photo was long left behind in a house, a containment breach, thousands of miles away, but it followed her. It kept her happy.

She drank it in for a long time as she was sure that when she set it down it would return to the photo of the solid-eyes’ friends, but time was passing, and they had to be off. They would have to drive farther with the bleeding brain she left behind. She put the picture in her pocket once again.

With her blood crusted hands, she wiped off her dripping eyes. She had to find andy. They couldn’t be caught after all these years. Not by anything that wanted them. Motion was stillness, and Heidi set off for the only person she had left.

Woman, with a prescribed difficulty, managed to open the latch on the old, rusted door. andy had closed their eyes. The house fragmented into a thousand solid colors trying to outline the way. Too many colors crowding together trying to look into the lens while someone was already blocking it.

The sound of a baby crying was the first and only sound in the house before Woman’s feet drew the sounds of life from the rotting flooring under the carpet. andy awkwardly walked into the main room. Where they remembered a piano against the wall, there was a baby crib. They noted the ten family photos still clinging to wall almost buried in dust. Ten years of the sisters and their parents. At a cabin, at a theme park, at a campus, at a concert and so on and so on.

Woman had taken off her thick jacket in order to hold and comfort the baby. Through all the colors, andy surveyed the picked-at wounds along Woman’s face, neck, and wrists; they stared the large, intentional, burns up and down her arm’s skin.

andy asked, “Is it yours?”

“No,” Woman sneered, still bouncing the baby on her shoulder, “I chose to be in charge of a helpless rat.”

andy looked around the room avoiding eyes with Woman, “which guy?”

“Gone, that’s what matters.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, last I heard of you you’d overdosed. Thought you’d kicked the bucket.”

andy shrugged, “I guess not.”

“Where’ve you been?”

andy considered lying. She’d likely never see Woman again, “On the run.”

Woman scoffed, “having all the fun as usual.”

andy didn’t say anything. The house looked, as far as they could discern through the separations, familiar. Familiar as in if they had seen it in a picture rather than having been there; it looked exactly the same as the photo of a memory, just messier, dustier, and sadder.

The baby seemed inconsolable. A mother’s love manifested only in Woman by the need to keep the little thing alive—just like her mother before her. She placed the sobbing baby down on the sofa rather than the crib. Its outlines looked so tiny. Woman peeled back outside slamming open and closed her car door.

Groceries were the reason she’d left the house. It didn’t cross andy’s mind to ask why Woman had still been out so late that it was early morning. Woman was aggressive in feeding the shriveled creature. Its continued cries were surely no longer because it was starving.

“It never stops,” Woman growled, “it never shuts up.” Woman picked the baby back up and took it back to the crib, “What are you just going to stare at me?”

Softly, andy said, “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“All you want to say is critique, huh.” Woman swaddled the baby in a blanket.

“No.” andy said rubbing at their palm with their fingers, “I can’t judge you.”

“Oh, go ahead. I won’t mind,” Woman hissed. She reset and sighed, “What did you do?”

“It’s not what I did,” andy mumbled. They said, “Are you alone here?”

“Mom and dad? They’re gone. Mom did herself in and dad moved on. The house was paid off, so, yeah, just me in the mansion.”

“It’s probably better that way,” andy muttered out.

“Yeah? Ya think so?” Woman put the baby in the crib and sat down on her sofa gesturing andy to do the same.

“I mean, well, she was always so miserable, and he was so upset. I just mean, I–“

“Don’t sweat it. I think you right,” Woman grimaced, “Sometimes, I think she got the right idea.”

“How’d she do it?”

“I’ll give ya a guess.”

andy didn’t proceed; they both knew well enough.

“Yeah, probably for the best,” Woman sighed, “You think misery is genetic? We always joked about mom and us having the same thoughts like it’s inheritable. But we did all have the same irrational fears, and sometimes I feel a lot like her.”

“Oh, don’t say that.”

“You wouldn’t know, Kate. You hopped ship with that guy as soon as you could drop out and leave this behind. Look at me, girl, I know you have been.”

“You didn’t marry your mistake.”

“You married Ray?”

andy paused. They felt nauseous, “No… I,” they clutched onto the couch unable to breath. They needed soap.

“Are you fucking high right now?”

andy shook their head, “I meant… mom married hers.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that’s what you meant. If you vomit on my floor, I swear–“

andy stood up, “I just need to keep moving. Um, hey can I use your bathroom. Real fast.”

“You know where it is,” Woman scoffed.

andy walked a few feet into the back hall and entered the yellow bathroom. It was still yellow. It was only yellow. The white walls and the pretty flower-fairy wallpaper were unrecognizable separating and fleeing from each other.

Soap.

andy turned on the sink and shut their eyes. One more sight would shut off their brain. They scratched at their hands blindly under the water which refused to turn warm. They pumped piles of soap on their stained hands hoping in vain the soap would fix it as their insides churned–as their insides tried to separate from themselves.

Woman hadn’t changed. They didn’t know her. They had never known each other. Sharing a room in a picture wasn’t enough for them to know her.

andy shut off the water and opened their eyes. It felt like the stain was getting worse.

andy exited the bathroom.

“What are you on now?” Woman asked leaning on the arm of her sofa.

“Nothing… I’m just sick.”

“Addiction is genetic. You–“

“Stop,” andy halted her, “Just… what else has been going on?”

Woman raised an eyebrow, “barely anything. I’m a sub and a bar tender. Hey, exciting news I’ve been dealing with a student who’s dating one of the girls I go to parties with.”

“A grown adult?”

“Yeah,” Woman laughed, “who knew convincing a sixteen-year-old that a person mid-twenties doesn’t really love em was hard, huh?”

“What are you doing about it?”

“I’m not a mandatory reporter.”

“You’ve learned so much from the past.”

Woman rolled her eyes, “So, if it’s not what you did. What happened?”

andy didn’t respond with anything.

“Oh, my lord, do you want me to keep talking?”

“Why would you wanna hear about me?”

“Cause I thought you were dead! I know what’s happening in my life. Everything sucks. Music sucks, movies suck, my job sucks, my friends suck, and I’m stuck here with a gremlin who all it can do is shit and cry. I can’t even go and party or just fucking socialize because I hear my mother’s shitty stupid voice and her shitty genetic suicidal thoughts when I go home. You sound like you’ve been having fun, Kate. The last time I had fun was the last time dad and I went to Jackson with no friend and no family. Come on, what have you been taking? who are you with? I am asking you!”

andy closed their eyes again. The world was only outlines. Lines and lines of bugged up things. It was only their eyes.

She muttered out, “I’m with a girl; we have a U-Haul and not much else.”

“Like, with with?”

andy shrugged, “I mean, I guess. We aren’t doing very well. She’s sick too.”

“Is she why? What did she do.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” andy said on impulse, “She didn’t…” andy opened their eyes again. They hoped to make out Woman’s face. They stared up at the family photos again. A family they’d only seen in photos. Ten families they had only seen in photos. Heidi was all they had beside a wall of someone else’s photos.

“She didn’t what?”

“She didn’t know what she was doing,” andy stammered out, “she really missed her wife. She thought she was doing the right thing. But she just made us both fucking sick. It all became so normal so fast.”

“How much older is this girl than you?”

“Stop!” andy snapped.

“Did she kill her wife? Did you?”

“No… I–we haven’t talked about it. We just knew, and now I… I don’t what to tell you. She never talks about what she did just that they’re after me.”

“You sound like my friend who went psychotic after gettin’ beaten half to death.”

“Stop it.”

“What are you sick with?”

andy hummed, “she’s real contagious. She… but, not, she’s not to me. I– I can’t see right. My eyes can’t focus and she’s… she’s decomposing, and we can’t stay nowhere too long.”

Woman stood up, “I say this with love, I think you outta take the right kind of drugs.”

“You never listen,” andy muttered.

“They make good drugs for schizophrenia now. I sub for one class a lot and have watched this one kid get a lot better.”

“You do sound like your mom,” andy stood up.

“How dare you.”

“You said it first, and here I’ll agree. You sound like Kate’s mom.”

“Oh, you’re fucking crazy!”

andy grabbed Woman’s arms, “When Heidi has problems she bleeds. She bleeds so much, and you can always tell something is wrong with her! I have been looking at you!” andy closed their eyes and felt up and down Woman’s arms, “I would give anything to look the way sick people are supposed to look.”

Woman rose, “Let me go.”

andy’s breath grew faster. They kept their eyes closed, “She would say that this was Joan. Joan was hostile. She always said that when I got mad. When I was super social, she said that was Kate. And when she loved me, she said that was Andrea, so she calls me andy, because she misses her wife, and she doesn’t love me, and I don’t love her at all. I feel nothing, and I’m stuck on the run because she’s scared to be alone.”

“Kate, breathe. Sit back down. Breath,” andy could feel Woman try and push back a little.

andy opened their eyes, and it hurt. The colors were changing frantically. They were going to vomit. Freedom was containment. They squeezed harder onto Woman’s burned arms, “I know what it’s like to die, and I’m afraid if we stop moving–I’m scared to die again!”

“Where is she. Your girl, where is she?”

“She’s probably looking for me. She’s scared I left. I just wanted soap; I just want to be clean.”

“Do you want her to find you?”

andy breathed.

“I can help just… let go.”

“She likes me better dead.”

“Hey…”

“I wanna stand still.” andy could feel their face made damp.

They leaned onto woman releasing her arms. Woman hugged them lightly.

andy felt nauseas. andy jerked away knocking Woman off balance. Woman hit her head on the sharp corner of the baby crib. andy fell the floor. On their hands and knees, andy vomited.

They heaved and heaved, and slowly black tar made its escape from them. The internal compost of rejected body slowly left them. They tried to stop; they tried to seal it in. andy sobbed and put their hands to their mouth further staining their hands. They swallowed and swallowed. Each attempt to return their insides to where they belonged was met with a new heave.

The baby started crying again.

They couldn’t keep going; they’d surely find the duo after this night.

andy leaned on the crib still holding their mouth. They didn’t want to die again. They didn’t want to die again. They felt parts of their body detaching, expanding, and returning to them. A piece of them had gotten out. They cried out in anger. One mistake had done all of this. It hadn’t even been their own mistake. Woman thought andy had been having fun? Living someone else’s consequences wasn’t fun. If they had to keep running, it should be for something they actually did.

andy picked up the crying baby gently. They thought about bringing it with them, but the feeling of their body separating like a glitched light turned their off their thought. andy walked a few steps holding the child kindly until they were over Woman’s head.

They had nowhere left to go.

They smashed the baby’s head against its mother’s again and again until both skulls had separated into a million shard. They dropped the baby.

Motion was stillness. Their hands were filthy.

They left the home back into the comfort of the colorless night.

Heidi stood in front of an old brick building at a T intersection. It may have been a school a hundred years ago. The missing texture said brick; hell, it may have been a school now. The road that ran in front of it was normal high traffic. She could tell. She turned right.

She wished she had grabbed another shot. She lost her footing systematically where the road despised her. Heidi was no acrobat: no feat of wonderous balance. She had to find andy, and they had to go. They had to go somewhere more miles than they had ever gone in one trip. Why was this where andy had to go?

Another tee intersection? The moon had turned off, but the sky flickered back on manifesting a lighting error upon the clouds that had rolled in. The clouds were orange and pink as if dusk was just setting. The sky was stumbling to load for someone whose eyes saw too much.

Heidi dropped the notion of her cautious feet and walked forward onto the floating road. Another high school. Another school that was rendering for someone else under the sky.

They couldn’t exist apart.

The road parallel to this broken school floated solid and fateful under knock off stadium lights that aimed to keep this high school safe. Was that a figure in the road?

Was that something come to find them? Or was it what she’d gone to find.

Step after step of sticking feet took Heidi closer to the person she knew. She knew they were meant.

andy walked slowly down the middle of the street on the seams of the road. Their arms folded and eyes closed, they wandered blissfully unaware of the world that tried to mold to them.

Heidi was seeing double.

Heidi reached her hands lightly out to stutter andy’s forward motion just a bit. andy walked forward a few more steps until connection threatened to be lost. They unfolded their arms and opened their eyes. They kept at an arm’s length from Heidi.

andy always loaded very clearly; no, they never unloaded. But Heidi found them hazy and their outline separated.

andy looked at their hands. They were still stained black; they were stained red. As they felt Heidi’s eyes track them, they felt the blood that splattered their face.

Heidi went to grab andy’s hands. They both knew it was time to go.

Motion was stillness. Freedom was containment.

andy rejected Heidi’s hand and faced the school behind them.

andy whispered, “There’s all this dirt on my hands,” they turned their head to Heidi. They spoke with a wistful face, “wouldn’t you like to see where I went to high school?”

andy took steps toward the sidewalk. Heidi buffered their progress again, “What did you do?”

“You should have heard the words I just spoke.”

 Heidi realized that andy was not interested in following her. andy balanced on the edge of the sidewalk and stared at the school. Heidi could see several colored embosses around andy; their colors were separating.

“andy, we need to go,” Heidi choked out.

“What did I do?” andy muttered, ‘I’m not the only one covered in blood.”

“What?” Heidi had moved to meet her position.

andy took her hand. They said again, “Would you like to see where I went to high school?”

Heidi didn’t say anything. andy began moving stepping onto the berm that separated the road from the parking lot. Heidi followed pulled by the object in motion.

The ground was soft; Heidi tripped immediately putting all her weight onto the hand that guided her. andy didn’t stutter over the grassy hill at all keeping Heidi stable behind them. When they hit the asphalt, they held both hands out for Heidi to jump off the grass. They released Heidi and continued walking with pep towards the opposite corner of the high school.

Heidi couldn’t well keep up. She was stumbling worse and worse over the road which seemed to have less and less supports.

“Hey.”

Heidi looked up from her feet to andy returning to her. andy pulled up a string that hung around her neck up and over her head and handed it to Heidi.

It was a shot.

“I always carry an extra.” They said putting in in Heidi’s hand. She continued on.

Heidi felt the syringe in her hand and stared after the separating andy. What was andy doing? Heidi stabbed the needle into her soft skull; the rush of it seizing her muscles and closing her eyes for a petrifying moment. She fought to not fall like the syringe she dropped.

She blinked her eyes open; she unclenched every muscle in her body. The lights above and attached to the high school made it appear ever so forlorn. So disrespected and so detached. The world was dark around it suffocating this block of LED light. Heidi saw andy doing something around the corner.

Able to follow without fear of falling from the world, Heidi sped to andy. andy had moved a large trashcan directly under the building. They gestured Heidi to stand beside them as support; Heidi felt more than one hand touch her when andy rested their hand on her shoulder.

andy hopped up on the lid of the trashcan and scaled up onto the roof, “I’ll pull you up,” andy leaned over.

Heidi looked up at them with worried eyes. andy smiled at her and flicked their hands in encouragement. Heidi didn’t like what was happening; she leaned on the wall, got on the trashcan, and took andy’s outreached hands. With a little push and pull, andy got Heidi up beside them on the roof. Heidi laid stomach first on the roof breathing, and andy immediately rose to their feet.

They said, “C’mon,” without even looking back.

Heidi sighed, she couldn’t help it, and pushed herself up to follow andy. She watched her for a moment as they balanced on the peak of the roof—as if the motion was ingrained in their muscle memory.

andy stopped and looked back at Heidi over her shoulder to say something. They caught Heidi’s eyes.

andy was beautiful. Heidi smiled slightly and continued. andy didn’t look at her in the face again.

andy led her to the other side of the building which stood taller than the rest. There was a small door that andy opened with no struggle. Heidi was surprised to see how easily andy could crawl into the auditorium’s balcony.                                                                                                                                                                                

andy, already a few feet away from the door, called, “it locks from the outside.”

“That’s inane,” Heidi replied watching andy get farther away.

“C’mon. There’s a ladder over here.”

The ladder took them to the floor and a side door took them into the halls of the school.

andy was coughing into their hands when Heidi finally caught up. More black tar coated their hands; they wiped it on their pants. Another color had separated from them.

Wiping their mouth, andy said, “could you imagine being back in high school?” they put their hands in their pockets and took a wide few steps in a circle. They looked at Heidi; they began walking further down the hallway. Heidi walked beside their glitching form. andy asked, “What was it like for you?”

Heidi watched andy look at the walls, “I… couldn’t imagine going back.”

“D’they bully you.”

“They didn’t care much for me, no.”

andy walked apart from her pressing their face up to a dark window. They turned back eyes excited with an idea. They found a chair; the chair found the window.

Heidi looked to andy with an expression of horrified confusion; andy shrugged and climbed in.

They opened the office door from the other side. They asked Heidi, “What didn’t they like about you?” andy sat down at one of the desks and began messing with the computer.

Heidi tumbled out, “I wasn’t good with people. I had a stutter ‘n I was shy. I always managed to say the wrong thing. What are you doing?” Heidi came around the desk looking at the computer.

andy smiled, “they didn’t log out of the—I have a–“ they cut off typing, “Had nothing to do with ya bein’ a les?”

Heidi sighed and muttered, “Eventually, it did. No, I never made good friends until Uni. Really, until I met… well until I met you.”

andy didn’t say anything.

“What are you doing?” Heidi faltered.

“Heidi,” andy said staring at the loading computer, “Isn’t weird that I, me, I didn’t know that. We’ve never talked about high school.” andy made motions on the computer, “that’s an easy thing to talk about I think,” they placed the computer speaker next to the school-wide speaker’s microphone. They turned it on.

They hit the first music file they had been able to find on the computer.

They looked at Heidi, “We don’t talk about anything, Heidi. We never… we never talked about anything. You should’ve—I could’ve—we—” andy stood up approaching the halls that now rang with music, “we drive for hours and hours, but we never talked.”

andy stepped into the hallway listening to the school-appropriate classical the now flooded the building.

“Is that why you left?” Heidi called.

andy turned around asking ‘what’ with their body.

Heidi followed them, “Is that why you left?”

andy looked at their hands and paced a little. Heidi matched their pacing, and they began to walk around the school.

“I left because I needed soap; because my hands are filthy, and I can’t get them clean. I just wanna be clean. I feel so sick,” andy wrapped their arms around themself.

Heidi said, “this place is really weak. When we go, it’ll be better.”

andy looked at Heidi with no softening of their face or hiding of their feeling, “What are we doing, Heidi? All this time, what have we been doing?”

“We’re looking for a place that’s solid; that is good for us.”

“Heidi,” andy whispered out. She shook her head.

“What?”

“There isn’t gonna be, and you know that,” andy said completely nauseous.

“Somewhere,” Heidi insisted, “If there are weaker places there have to be stronger ones.”

“Heidi, I have a secret for you,” andy’s voice wobbled, “All these weaker places? They’re places your dead girls lived.”

“What?”

“About three stops ago was Fran’s hometown, two before was Rosalyn, this is Kate’s.”

“Why didn’t any of you—”

“Cause you only care about one of us and you know where she’s from.” andy put their hand over their mouth.

“That isn’t true.”

andy split apart their fingers and spoke, “Out of ten names you picked a nickname for her. When you see good things, it’s her. When you look at us you see her! Like Kate’s sister saw Kate, you want Andrea back. That’s what I am. I’m just yours: your wife, your project, your mistake, your companion,” they shut their hand over their mouth again.

Heidi wanted to object; she stepped to touch andy, but they pushed her away. andy leaned over beginning to heave—beginning to vomit.

andy let themself down to the floor. They didn’t want to make anymore of a mess; they didn’t want to leave anymore remnants of the creature that wasn’t supposed to be. Their eyes filled with lachry as they gagged on what made them up—as they gagged on the rotting remains of ten.

They choked out, “I never asked for this; I’m just one creature. I’m just—” a little bit of tar fell into her hands.

“You’re just one,” Heidi couldn’t fight the instinct to hold her. She too cried, “you’re just one; you’re just one that’s all we made,” she muttered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I made you like this.”

“Be honest with me,” andy sobbed, “why do I have to carry your corpses,” they sobbed as the tar ripped their throat as it caught in their mouth filling their throat.

Watching andy separate, Heidi was wrought with tears, “We wanted to keep you all alive. We wanted to make ten; we wanted one to become ten again. I fucked up, andy. I never wrote results because my hypothesis was so so wrong, and they didn’t listen that we had to stop. I found the soul is nothing more than what’s in the brain and ten cannot become one and stay distinct. You’re right, you’re just one. They want to rip you apart; they want you to figure out what the fuck I did to you,” Heidi sobbed, “I’m sorry.”

Heidi looked objectively at the seizing andy; Heidi took andy’s hand away from her mouth.

Andy with tear-soaked eyes looked up at Heidi. They said with their strained faced: what about the trail?

“The trail doesn’t matter for you; you don’t need to carry this. Leave me and you’ll just be a person, they won’t be able to find you. You are impossibly one.”

andy gripped on to Heidi and let the tar rip them apart. andy separated. Their shape outlined by embossed silhouettes as the floor was flooded with the stain.

After minutes and minutes, andy coughed. It coughed and sat up coughing and wiping the tar from its mouth and coughing fresh red blood.

It had a glitch about it where its form from moment to moment would waver and separate, the wild embosses which made it one had unsettled and mixed around like sediment in a puddle touched by a leaf.

It separated from Heidi scooting back to the look at the amalgamed rotten corpse that had come from inside itself. It felt very empty: very hungry. It looked to Heidi who kept her mourning soft and to herself.

“Heidi?”

Heidi looked at it.

“Just because I don’t love you now doesn’t mean I couldn’t.”

Heidi cried into her hand, “I’m sorry I lied. It… finding one person who loved me was hell; I couldn’t let you leave me. You are all I have besides dead girls.”

It solemnly nodded its words, “The living need attention to.”

Heidi matched its nodding in understanding.

It looked down at the tar that coated its hands. It wiped its hands on the floor of the school. As the floor took the tar, it could see its hands beneath the coating were clean again. It scooted its hands and slid across the floor leaving a big train of tar behind it; Its glitching hands were only dusty. All it needed was some soap.

Heidi had risen as she watched it wipe itself off. Heidi inhaled. She called, “Hey, I’m Heidi. What’s your name?”

It stood up and dusted its hands off on its clothes again. It pondered for a moment before coming up with, “I’m Ace.”

“It’s nice to mee you, Ace,” Heidi smiled.

Ace smiled too. It extended its hand out, “You look tired, Heidi. We should get you to bed.”

Heidi quietly took Ace’s hand.

They walked out the front door of the school.

[panopticon-entertainment]

I Am

Mile ∞ tells the story of an old woman, Eve, who cares for the freeway exit/entrance at the end of the world. From her daily routine to a gift from a god, Eve tells of the pieces of ∞ that led her to greatest accomplishment. The story is told in four parts: “The End of the World is a Freeway Exit.”, “The Last Rest Stop on Earth.”, “The Mile Man.”, and “I Am.”

Listen on Youtube & Spotify - https://youtu.be/2URUd8PeAjw?si=t6zP5z9BdChTIJ2y

___________________________________________________

Sunday (Week one)

It has been a long time since I have written about myself. Today, I was searching for that day I planted the pear tree. See, today, Forever began road construction on I-∞, and I thought that seemed redundant. It could not have been long ago that this was done, right? The last set of road construction inspired me to try and make some sort of novel with all my ramblings; I would be a lousy novelist. I only, well, you know how much I wrote prior. I thought it would make something of the end of my life. Oh well. The road construction had just concluded when I began: days before the Mile Man and ∞ met on my lawns.

I am amazed to say it has been many years since the Mile Man’s departure.

I thought with all the records I keep; I would have a better sense of myself. However, I suppose that just cut time in half, living a moment twice at least. Here again at the dawn of road construction, I ought to editorialize the life I lead if I am going to reexperience it anyway. This way I will not forget myself.

It is Sunday evening. I am waiting to go see my Mimes. Tomorrow, I will mow.

Monday

Summer flowers went up today, and, no, I do not mean any earthly flower. Traffic cones! Forever’s crew blocked the first lane today. She must have new workers for they placed the cones poorly. They do not line up, nor are they near enough to block any car. They best feel lucky the Living cannot access I-∞. Wait until a Jumper makes it past my grass and plummets into all of Forever’s fresh asphalt. I have not seen Forever myself yet.

Tuesday

I nicked the pear tree with my weed eater today. I feel just horrid. I mow such a wide ring around it as to not disturb the low branches. The pear tree is my most prized possession. The pears are pure white, unlike any other species of pear I have ever seen. In all these years, I have let no one taste of it. To do so would be to invoke the highest. No. No one can touch it. Not even innocent insects nor peckish birds. Silly things, I have a whole garden for you!

Thursday

They tore up a portion of asphalt today on I-∞. I am troubled about the asphalt near my grass; when will it  be demolished? The crew did not care much about getting the chunks cleanly in the truck.

Sunday (Week two)

I reread my entry on my Mimes. I must say I disappoint myself. I have learned no more about the duo. I still cannot tell what kind of eternal show they perform. To be frank, I have no recollection of those thoughts about their nature; I have just been consuming their presence. My projections–My editorializing dreams have forgotten what is on the page. I am disappointed with myself.

Wednesday

It is odd to me the things young Short-Timers will do once they receive their ticket for the Caravan. I think that with nothing left to lose, their true natures come out. Their reckless inner desires nevered acted upon as a Living finally fulfilled before their journey to the Beyond. What would I do if I had nothing to lose? When I get my turn on the Caravan, I certainly will not riot against the End.

I came to the exit today to find my road signs graffitied. Graffiti on the bridge is typical, but the signs? I do not want ∞ to be guided by filth—especially such vulgar and human filth. I worry any chemicals will ruin the reflective properties or simply wash away the printing. I scrubbed with water for a bit on the U-Turn sign, but to no avail. I left a message on the trash for the Caravan driver that new signs are required.

Short-Timers are odd. I suppose I am one of them. For all intents and purposes, I am a Short-Timer. 

I am, am I not?

Thursday

I have been fighting a dry spot of grass on Section 3. 

Saturday

My errand boy came today while I was cleaning my RV. He is very young. He sat at my table and talked my ear off. His skeleton is misshapen. After he left, I made potato soup.

Tuesday (Week three)

An exciting day! By exciting, I mean troublesome. A Jumper crashed onto section four today trying to race to the Beyond; they were only a few yards from undried asphalt. This happens occasionally, and it always mucks up my grass! Vehicled Jumpers are usually thrill seekers or the Debted trying to beat the End to the finish line. These ones died on impact. A duo—the Debted. I sheltered them at my garden while we awaited the Caravan. One took a bunch of grapes, and one took a banana. They told me something about a bad deal they had made; I must relisten to the recording.

Paper, can you keep a secret? I like to take trinkets from the Jumper’s vehicles. Funny keys, lanyards, scent trees, and other little cute things. This car had cash—riches like I have never seen before, and, well, money is just paper.

Wednesday

As suspected, the road workers got ground asphalt in my grass. I saw them doing it, but I did not see Forever. It is useless to try and talk to these dolts. I will have to bring a rake on Friday.

Saturday

Today, I did something I have not done in all of the years since the Mile Man’s departure: I braved the End’s crusty, halogen lit city. I have hired various Short-Timers to do my business for me, but today it felt right; I had a mission becoming of the Living. I bought as many cameras as I could scour. I am to continue what I once started. I am going to find the answers to my what ifs.

Sunday (Week Four)

Now, there is not an inch of the Last Rest Stop my lenses cannot see.

Monday

This dry patch confounds me. Fertilizer has not taken; water has not either. I will be planting seed anyway when I fix the ruts the Jumpers left; I will tear this section up and try again.

Tuesday (Morning)

I do not usually walk recreationally at the top of the week anymore.. I was so frustrated by that dry spot; I went out well past midnight to decompress. The only others I ever see at these late hours are my creatures of maybe.

There is a quiet area among a sea of rose bushes where the distant Exit Zero is visible via the haze of streetlights that run parallel with that dark and infinite road. With the stars above and a bright moon, not even the frustration of road construction can overshadow the lovely and calming sight. Whenever I am upset, I always plant my feet here. I have never shared this with anyone; it is mine alone.

I was hit on the way back. I was knocked to the ground. He helped me up.

He apologized, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect to see anyone out here.”

I asked him what a young man like himself was doing here.

He told me, “I, uh, just moved into the RV park.”

Ah, a Short-Timer. He had a face that looked like a hundred other faces I had seen before. Not unattractive but simply an arrangement of common genes.

I told him to look out for the Mimes.

He nodded, “again, I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure to look up more. Have a good night.”

I made sure he knew all was forgiven. I said goodnight; he carried on.

Thursday

I received grass seed today. I cannot fix any ruts until I get mulch or dirt from the Matter Mobile. However, I did rake up more asphalt the road crew deposited on my grass. I saw Forever; she did not acknowledge me.

Friday

I have found my cameras do not pick up the Mimes very well. Pictures are decidedly the best option. They, however, catch other things just swell. There is a couple who likes to touch each other in a ‘hidden’ area. Tourists’ favorite thing to do is steal flowers. The Short-Timer’s walk the path most often to speak ill of others. Autumn walks at the most peculiar times.

Tuesday (Week Five)

I desired to talk to the Caravan driver about the road signs, but I did not get a chance to. They were in such a hurry to get to the world; something must have happened.

Wednesday

I have been pondering on something: My freezer is full of pears, and many of my cabinets are filled just the same with jam. I am considering investing in this horse trailer I saw for sale in the grocery store parking lot. I can get a bigger freezer. Oh, writing is the most wonderful thing; it is decided, I shan’t waste a single piece of ∞’s gratitude. I have only seen her distant chariot since.

Maybe, I am being preserved for Godhood. Mayhap that is why my time on these lands has not been very short.

Thursday

I passed Autumn again. He finds beauty in the end; I can tell he is rare.

Saturday

I bought the trailer.

Saturday (Week Six)

I bought the freezer.

Sunday (morning) (Week Seven)

The pears glow blue. They always glow blue! Putting them in the new freezer I discovered they glow blue; I just cannot always see it. What other things can I not always see? How does ∞ see the world? Does she see more vibrant colors? Does she see all things like the Mimes? I want to see too! I want to see everything like her. I am going to eat one; I am going to accept ∞’s gift.

Monday (Morning)

Woah.

Monday (Week Eight)

Paper, I am sorry it has been so long. I need to fill you in on many details.

I dug into the dry spot; I found the issue. There is a large root underneath—the central area for my “wildflower” patches on section three. It fascinates me. The nearest flower patch is towards the road about fifteen of my paces away, and the next in the center thirty paces. However, many patches in this area are connected and fed by this parasitic root. I have been debating how to proceed for if I remove the root the patches will burn up. In writing this, I have decided it; I will take out the root and rip out the flowers. Practicality over beauty. If I nursed this too long, who knows what problems it could lead to. I will not have my perfect grass ruined.

And, oh, this construction crew. I caused problems with them, I did. They were trying to drive wheels on my grass Monday. I stopped mowing and parked the machine right behind them and watched. They waited and waited for me to move, but I was not going to let them. They did not need to turn around; they could have driven in reverse. They understood my intention eventually. Did I have this much trouble with the construction the last time this occurred?

I cannot remember. I worry sometimes pieces of myself are slipping away without me noticing. At least this follied crew has a manager and even co-workers. Oh, well, that is what paper is for.

Oh, and I took care of the ruts from where those debted jumpers crashed. The grass is already beginning to grow like nothing ever happened. The new road signs also came in. I will put them up tomorrow before I begin weed eating. I may not be able to finish that, but I cannot stand the sight any longer. I have no instruction on what to do with the old ones.

It has been an eventful week. I hate to write such a jarringly long entry. I am just not feeling quite right.

Tuesday

My errand boy boarded the Caravan today, but I have a replacement in mind.

Wednesday

There was little trash today, so, again, I focused on my wildflower issue. I dug more dirt from the root but did not sever it yet. I must, I know. If the flowers burn up, they will be simple to erase, but these particular weeds are so lovely: green and yellow pansies. I will cut them off. Soon.

Saturday

Autumn lives on the other side of the R.V. park.

I stopped him on his way to the path, and asked him for help moving around things in my trailer. I told him I had been preparing to build storage units in the stalls. I said I needed help moving the freezer. 

He said, “Sure, yeah.”

I have made the stalls more distinct from each other. So, that when Autumn is given friends, they cannot get to know each other too well.

I had to gag Autumn when my new errand boy—a child here with his mother—came with our groceries.

I worry Autumn will starve. He will not eat anything I give to him—not even a pear.

Wednesday (Week Nine)

I told a lie. I did not put up the signs Tuesday. I put them up today! I removed the old signs Tuesday but did not have the energy to assemble. I think I will hang the old signs in the trailer for Autumn’s benefit; he seems obsessed with I-∞.

Thursday

I came home upset today: a Jumper put wheels over my garden. My berry bushes destroyed! 

I made sure Autumn ate today. I had to tie up his hands. I found a dozen punches to the head will get him to comply.

I fed him by hand. A beef and cheese sandwich, cranberry juice (self-made), and his first pear.

Friday

I finally cut up the roots. I threw the weeds on drying asphalt.

Saturday

I bathed Autumn today. I put a metal wash tub in the end of the trailer. I do not have much more room for things.

I told him he must take off his clothes, so they may be washed. I had my errand boy buy him more comfortable attire. He fought me. I held his face underwater, and then he did not fight me anymore. I understand his reluctance now.

He has a brand. 

A sort of crown tattooed above his left pec. He is very badly scarred. He must have been shot; there is a hole through his heart.

As I bathed him, I asked him to tell me of his life as a Living.

He remained silent. I held his nose and mouth shut for almost a minute. 

I asked him again to tell me.

He instead said, “I should be gone. Don’t make me keep living.”

I told him he was special; I told him he was better than death.

He said, “What are you? Who are you to not know who I am and still punish me. Who are you that has this right?”

Who am I?

I am sure I told him who and what I am, but at this moment I cannot recall with what I replied.

I bathed him, dressed him, and tied up only his arms and laid him to rest.

I have eaten over a dozen pears now.

Thursday (Week Ten)

It seems like all this writing has manifested trouble. I am doing my best to salvage my berry bushes, but it is shaping up to be a lost cause. Simply smoothing these ruts out has been a pain. I asked my errand boy to buy seeds. Things like this happen. Plants are not for eternity. Still, these bushes served me well. I shall miss them.

Sunday (Week Eleven)

My Autumn is much more compliant; he eats. I have fed him several pears. I must gag him constantly for at night he dreams vividly. I have him tell me of them.

I keep his dreams in a notebook just like I keep the Mimes. Today, he told me something interesting.

He told me, amidst conversation, “Well, I am dreaming of people I’ve never met before. Usually, the brain can’t make up faces.

I have not told him I am designing his dreams yet.

I asked him more about his previous dream. I asked him how well he felt he knew these people.

He said, “Well, with the mom person, uh in the dream it felt like she was my mother like I had known her perfectly my entire life.”

I ate another pear after I left Autumn to rest.

This must be how ∞ creates gods.

Tuesday

I am actually quite fond of the product of the road construction. The team is improving. I think it really is wonderful that I-∞ is maintained so well. No matter how close to the end you are, you should never stop improving. There is not a thing insignificant enough to not be cared for.

Wednesday

Ever since I tore up that root, I am daily finding more dying flowers. I suspected three, maybe four patches, but I have found six. Six places I need reseed. Maybe, I should not have been so hasty.

Thursday

I put Autumn on a leash, and took him for a walk last night; pets are supposed to be on leashes here. The Mimes are very clear to us now. I need to get somebody for Autumn to play with.

Friday

The new berry bushes have taken. It will be some time before they begin fruiting, but I am patient. I have jam still. I brought some to the garden in case a Jumper or Traveller desires it. 

The summer flowers are gone, and so is Forever’s crew.

Saturday

I am on my way to godhood; I can control Autumn’s dreams.

Sunday (Week Twelve)

I forced Autumn asleep for twenty-four hours. I drafted a story. It was a fantasy story in which he could duplicate himself. I prescribed the given circumstances, the characters around him and let him explore fully.

When he awoke, I had to beat his vision out of his mouth. I recorded his words and wrote them verbatim. But for all intents and purposes, he experienced a new life as I commanded it.

I revealed to him what I have done. He went mad for a moment. He tried to run, fight, and hide. I whipped him until he bled.

He rambled out the same sentiments. He said, “My story is over! I can’t do anymore; I should be gone. One life was too much. I can’t—do not make me do anymore!”

I gagged him.

I burnt off the brand his own life gave him and opposed to it carved a new one: my repeat sign.

I told him to quiet down; there was no need for him to tire himself crying and struggling. I said that everyone craves the chance to live again; he should be grateful I chose him.  I told him I would ungag him if he would stop moaning about serving a God.

He seemed complaint, so I ungagged him. He said to me, “you are no God.”

I struck him. If the road construction crew could learn, so can he. I told him I am his god.

“Then of what? What are you? Whose hell am I in?”

I have been worried about my memory. I have been worried that I cannot be as active as I once was. I started writing because I worry why I am still here at I-∞. He asked these things so many times before, and I do not think I ever gave him an answer.

Today, I knew. It is all so clear.

I told him: I am Everything.

[panopticon-entertainment]

The Mile Man

Mile ∞ tells the story of an old woman, Eve, who cares for the freeway exit/entrance at the end of the world. From her daily routine to a gift from a god, Eve tells of the pieces of ∞ that led her to greatest accomplishment. The story is told in four parts: “The End of the World is a Freeway Exit.”, “The Last Rest Stop on Earth.”, “The Mile Man.”, and “I Am.”

Listen on Youtube & Spotify - https://youtu.be/2URUd8PeAjw?si=t6zP5z9BdChTIJ2y

___________________

“I have adored the Mile Man. He, though not my employer, was my supervisor. My delicacy. I asked him if I may grow the garden; he brought me seed and tools. When I paved the way for his Caravan, he always smiled to me.

Many years ago, in my garden, I installed a microphone. I often speak with the fleeing Travelers and loitering Jumpers, but my memory has slowed and dulled with the wrinkling of my skin—I needed aid to remember. I added transcribing to my nightly routine. It was not very long after the garden’s installation.

The Mile Man had the hardest job; he did so well. He transported so many who kicked and screamed against the beauty of the infinite exit. I hope he knows he was appreciated.

A couple years ago, I planted cameras in my garden too. I added watching to my Saturday routine. I have been much happier avoiding the city. Instead, I look at the pictures on my wall.

The Mile Man worked this interstate forever. He always knew what the Beyond had in store. I wondered, worried, which journey down I-∞ would be his last. I watched the horizon anxious for his Caravan. He always came back. I never suspected his last trip would be a return visit.

∞ learned that the Mile Man had not been emptying certain seats on his Caravan. The Mile Man had been amassing followers: worshippers. Travelers who had a love for the End, or an unsatisfied finale, or a seed of evil. 

Why did he not ask me?

Everything changed—my love, my devotion, the structure of the End of the World—when ∞ came in Heavenly Father’s Chariot.

The garden needed tending: I tended it. I did not always catch the Caravan on the horizon, and the Mile Man, and his empty vehicle, waited on the bridge I build.

The road was laid half; the Mile Man pulled in. I felt jealous; someone sat in his passenger seat.  I only noticed the death of the engine as the Chariot halted itself behind the Caravan on. My gawking alerted the Mile Man.

I could not help but stare for ∞ is breathtaking. ∞ is the most gorgeous creation of the Beyond. I could not have known the word beautiful before I met ∞. I felt I needed to bow so where I stood, I did. Her eyes are large; her iris and pupil are one: solid blue. Her sleek black hair is pulled tight to her scalp by a cloud. Studded infinity signs pierce her ears and along her lacrimal are tattoos of the same sign. Her lips plump and painted, or maybe naturally, blue. Her eyelids and cheeks sparkled; radiated.  Her shirt: a heart shape of sparkly blue that revealed her ribs and back. Perfectly shaped; perfectly muscular. Perfect. Impossible to describe. Her wrists adorned with bracelets. The back of her hoop skirt made of clouds. The front was only the wooden cage revealing her shirt a leotard. Blue ballet slipper laced to her knee. Her visible thighs tattooed. A snake curled around one; the Mile ∞ sign on the other. I think I ramble, but I want to record all of her. There are not enough words to describe her in a moment of emotion. To see her smile… oh my…

The Mile Man exited his vehicle with a cordial bow, an arm across his torso. He, a man who I admired, was nothing compared to her. He approached her as an equal. Her arms were crossed.

“Good day, ∞. Do the roses bloom today?”

“Oh, my most loyal, must you make me cross this bridge?” 

“You yourself made Forever temporary. Neither expected eternity for me to be on I-∞.”

∞ slid open the Caravan door. Inside sat three creatures more color than person.

“This is not progression. They are revolting.”

“Do not be so harsh; they were once your children.”

“I did not give you your gift to be used for Tragedy.”   

The Mile Man grabbed her hands and forced her to face him up and close, ““Listen! You cannot expect me to walk among gods and not fester with ambition!”

He pushed her feet a few steps and her against the Caravan’s walls. I wanted to see what they could do to each other. I ached to see how her perfect physicality and his gorgeous hands could work against each other what pent up passions they held. I ache to know how prior touches had been received.

“What gods do you walk among? Surely, not me.”

“I know that we are more.”

 “Patience would give you more. Forever progressed.”

“Forever is a babysitter.”

∞ pushed him away. “and you will be Nothing! Return down the beyond.”

“You shan’t make me,” The Mile Man returned to the van. He removed a trinket; he commanded his worshippers, “They are barely corporeal, and, soon, I will fall the same. Goodbye, ∞.”

“Enjoy what you have theifed from me.”

“Oh, I will, my Heavenly Mother.”

“I do hate when you call me so. We are equals. We always had been.”

“And now?”

“Now it is not so.”

“So, you are everything, and I am Nothing?”

He kissed her. She cut her hand.

“From now on, that is all you will ever be,” She smeared her blood across his face.

On foot, Nothing and his Worshippers walked into the world.

I wonder what is to come.

As ∞ watched his departure stolid and cross, I looked to my garden. I had considered it beautiful, but even the most beautiful rose could not come close to her.

I picked the most appealing fruit I could find, a pear, and as she felt her loss, I proffered it to her.

I gave her my condolences and offered her respite.

She must have been very overcome by the Mile Man’s departure for her offered smile was small. 

She said, “Thank you, gentle caretaker. I regret what you just witnessed.”

The kindest creature ate of my fruit. I stared after her chariot with the core in my palm. The seeds of it I planted.

So fair a creature aware of me! So perfect a person smiled at me. I barely folded the road before my time to leave. I hope the pear tree takes. An eternity of her gratitude in my garden!

I have combed the footage, slowed it, sped it, cherished it. I cannot unsee her. I have missed the passing Mimes tonight.

What if ∞ chose me?”

[panopticon-entertainment]

The Last Rest Stop on Earth

Mile ∞ tells the story of an old woman, Eve, who cares for the freeway exit/entrance at the end of the world. From her daily routine to a gift from a god, Eve tells of the pieces of ∞ that led her to greatest accomplishment. The story is told in four parts: “The End of the World is a Freeway Exit.”, “The Last Rest Stop on Earth.”, “The Mile Man.”, and “I Am.”

Listen on Youtube & Spotify - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEMF40m4J4A

______

“The Last Rest Stop on Earth is my home. The Rest Stop boasts a beautiful park with a playground and riverside walking path. An R.V. park for the short-timers, the Disgraced, the infinite resides solemnly across a tiny, wooden bridge, at the end of the flowery, road-styled walking path. There is a single restaurant in this lonesome area: a dairy shop with dining in the attic. It is meant for tourists and passer-bys; they do not like bums like us. Bums waiting—sometimes hours, sometimes decades—for our ticket on the Caravan. I do not talk with the neighbors—the other bums. I set my camp chairs facing away from the road hiding me from the foul little community. I despise their culture; I despise their attitudes. So many of them characterize themselves with a hatred for life they had, and even more by a hatred for the natural order. They hate ∞ for in life they refused to believe in her. I have been waiting longer than all of them, and yet I still worship the pantheon that runs our world.

So, I have never discussed with any the specters… the creatures… hauntings that share our home. I am certain they would know of what I speak if I thrust my precocious conversation of the topic on them. Still, I know not what the Resters nor Short-Timers call this dual phantom, nor what they believe them to be. What I do know is no one knows so much as I for on my days off, precisely my Sunday—and many of my evenings—I devote my attention full to these ghouls. These actors… these tales… these Mimes!

The Mimes traverse the walking path. It appears a game of hide and seek—no, a game of cat and mouse—no… See, they smile at each other from time to time. The Walker is not always perceived a threat.

It is a duet. The Walker and the Light. The Walker is truly something frightful on a passing glance. Skin of paper and facial features carved or covered in black tar. Smarmy… commanding. I have no judgment for its image projects too many thoughts and feelings, all of them contradictory. A friend misjudged? A foe sheathed? A villain, a neutral party—I shan’t dwell on it. It invades my mind.

And the Light—the Blur, the Bolt—I have called them by many names. I have settled on Light for they have never given me reason to fear nor moral quandary. Their heart is pure. If this is a vision of death, they enjoyed life.

And what are these voiceless Mimes? I know not. 

I have thought them living, but they come too consistently.

I have questioned my mind, my soul, my connection to my body. Are they part of me? I fear it…

I have said I am aged. My living life has far come and gone inasmuch that my memory of what it was like to live is very slight. Being in between all these years has left my mind in a special state. I worry that myself may end up lost. When I started noticing the Mimes, I feared it greatly. Presently, I believe them to be real.

Maybe, I have thought, specters of a life altering event. Either creatures far moved on or stuck with no body but no ticket to ride the Caravan. But what is that event? What are they? This rationale depends on if every night they perform the same dance, but you see, I cannot tell! They spread across the park at odd corners. I cannot keep up. When I catch a clear moment, I log it into my brain. I will watch for it the next night but a different part of the dance that I cannot recall if rehearsed or improvised distracts me away.

The event falls to tragedy—I know that clearly. Although, the fatal blow I have never caught. The Light extinguished on that wooden bridge beneath a single streetlight.

Or, I have considered, they are fragments of reality. Maybe, something from another reality; something past that has become a repeated glitch. This makes them meaningless lines of bugged up intention.

Or even an eternal loop. If, as I have favored, the Walker is the villain, perhaps this loops eternal until the Blur—sorry, the Light—crosses the bridge. Each appearance a new attempt.

What they ARE I find does not matter so much to me as WHO this story befalls. The possibility of meaninglessness has never discouraged my hope a story coincides their blurry and surreal appearances.

Maybe… a young man and an old man. An old man who has taken his advantage over the Light. The Young Man fled the home, or maybe… maybe, changed his way home wary of the strange old man’s stalking eyes, feet, and hands. The Walker, mayhap, fallen mad over love or, more probable, lust driven to unspeakabilities. Ignore the filthy physicality and mayhap just a madly overprotective caretaker. The Young Man while fleeing perhaps prayed to ∞ for a second chance and was answered by A##### instead or a fallen star. Maybe, he lived before ∞ could command her hands leaving the duo glitched.

Maybe, less personal, just a serial killer, or they were just friends and the Light died of a bodily failure. Maybe, they did not know each other at all, and their eternity together is a sick joke by some wanna-be god. A very crummy prank, I say.

I have pondered the idea of just two quirky friends. Short-Timers who’s love for life and the odd kept them here although their bodies ran down I-∞.

I have notebooks and folders and journals of stories of who they may be.

Is the Light scared? If they were enemies, could they have learned to enjoy this existence?

What if they really do tell a different story every time, and I have been too focused on unity? Could they smile together and later fear each other? How many roles do they play; how many can they?

I can make record of them though. The pictures. Yes, the pictures do capture them. The Mimes are blurry to the human eye, but digitally the blur turns to not much more than a haze. They are beautiful.

I have found a piece of ∞.

I love my home at the end of the world.” - ↻

[panopticon-entertainment]

The End of the World is a Freeway Exit

Mile ∞ tells the story of an old woman, Eve, who cares for the freeway exit/entrance at the end of the world. From her daily routine to a gift from a god, Eve tells of the pieces of ∞ that led her to greatest accomplishment. The story is told in four parts: “The End of the World is a Freeway Exit.”, “The Last Rest Stop on Earth.”, “The Mile Man.”, and “I Am.”

Listen on Youtube & Spotify - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEMF40m4J4A

___________

"The end of the world is a freeway exit. The end is beautiful. The end is infinite and ever sprawling. A perfect blue sky always runs above the final interstate. 

I-∞. 

Somewhere in the distance the road drops off; the normal eye cannot perceive it, but any normal brain understands what is out there.

“Wrong Way”

“No Return”

“Exit 0”

“Mile ∞”

These are some of the unique signs I daily work around. I mow the lawn at the end of the world. I am aged in years and have resided at the end of the world for a long time. I only see people at the end, and one day I, too, will board the Caravan. I want to tell whoever it may concern what life was like for me at the end of the world.

The end is beautiful; I do not know why people fear it so. Nary a storm passes over this land. No storms equal no fear, correct? Is that not what humans desire? Clear skies? Sunshine and flowers; critters and rolling fields? That is truly what the end of the word boasts.

Five patches of grass I have to mow. On my monstrous mower, it takes two hours per section–except for the narrow little one which hugs the U-Turn. Each—besides little 2.5—slopes up to hug the roaded bridge that runs perpendicular over I-∞. Steep hills are fun to mow. Vertically is the recommended way, but somedays I dare traverse the hills at such an angle anyone else would fear rolling to early demise. It is exhilarating! And that action helps checker these oversized lawns in such an appealing way. I do not always dare it.

The grass here is green. Not yellow green, nor blue green, nor light green, nor crayon green. No. Only a pure, true grass green with very few highlights makes up these lawns. Almost solid, almost perfect. The few highlights come mostly in patches of weeds. I know I ought to demolish them, but they yield the cutest, sweetest, little pansy flowers when the grass is at its wild apex. They are so lovely and so comforting, I durst not to delete them. Oh, and when I say the grass here grows, it grows! On a poor week it grows still a foot. In a week, I have seen it reach my waist. I am not large in stature, but I still find it novel. The edge of the world is so fertile. I suppose it must be due to the fertilizer the Matter Mobile brings to the world.

The Matter Mobile returns from the Beyond on Wednesday. It exits again on Thursday, or Friday. I suppose that depends on its load. Matter cannot be created nor destroyed, but what form it takes or to where it goes, I know not. Is it just carbon? Does it contain things like chalk, cut grass, and ashes: things that blow away unrecognizable in the wind? I do not know. I have never seen the form of that who drives the Matter Mobile.

That is every Wednesday. Wednesday, I walk the perimeter and area of my grassy fields picking up trash; the culmination of which I leave in bags for the Mile Man to take to the beyond. I already know what trash has befallen my lovely lawns for Monday is the day I mow. I do not mow over the trash for it leaves such nasty scatters on my perfect pastures. So, as I plug away on my mower I step off and set aside the trash on what I have already mowed for later.

Tuesday, I weed eat everything my lawnmower cannot reach. As time goes on, I wax slower and slower, but that is all right for Tuesday is the day the Mile Man crosses the bridge. Driving his mighty caravan, the Mile Man shuttles those who Time has chosen to let go. On Tuesdays, I look eagerly upon whatever horizon—the return or the exit—for the distant sight of the Mile Man so that I may do the other facet of my job.

There is no road in this whole world that truly connects the World to the Beyond. I-∞ runs solitary only transversed by the three vehicles that come from the Beyond. So, when one of these sacred vehicles must take Exit Zero, I unfurl a road—piece together a road. The road looks like a large puzzle of foam and is as brightly colored as the flower garden. I build it across my grass to the U-Turn so each vehicle may float above the grass and the laws of nature. For the Matter Mobile, it is twice a week—one return and one exit. For the Chariot, it is whatever odd time it comes. For the Mile Man, it is always once a week on Tuesday. Every other week he returns from the beyond to collect bodies with tickets for I-∞. These days always interest me for the Mile Man is a fine creature. A sweet creature who smiles and conversates when possible.

For all intents and purposes, I am the only being who traverses this land on foot, but sometimes on Tuesday, or even Mondays, I find a Traveler who dares to flee from their ride on the Mile Man’s Caravan; those unwilling to go. The homeless, debtless, lifeless bodies that try to flee from I-∞. When I find those on my land, I take them to my garden (which I tend on Fridays) and proffer them the fruit they like most in the world. I will comfort them, and I will intake the travelers’ stories until the Mile Man comes, exits the Caravan, and walks them from Mile ∞ to the Miles Beyond.

It was to the Mile Man I made the request to grow a garden on the Fishbowl (section two). It is truly the final oasis: the final beauty. The final meal at the end of the world. I grow every type of fruit and berry, and even a few vegetables. At heart, I am a simple gardener.

I love the end of the week not for it being the end, but because I do my favorite jobs. Thursday, I tend to the plants. All the trees and the flowers that hide the ugly supports of the bridge, and the little pond cultivated in that Annex. It is tender work. Of course, Friday, I tend my garden.

Saturday and Sunday, I am not on my perfect little land. Saturday, I must take care of myself. Cleaning my RV and venturing into the dusty city for sustenance and sometimes entertainment. Sunday, I rest and stay awake all night to watch the specters that haunt the last Rest Stop on Earth.

Sometimes, on these days, I am called to the freeway to build the bridge for what or whom I call Heavenly Father’s Chariot. It is a blue model-T car which comes to and from the world inconsistently and sporadically. I do not know who Heavenly Father’s Chariot brings to and from this world. I know not what lies beyond I-∞. A benevolent watchmaker? A god? Not a thing at all? A second level? Another time or another place? I know not, and I care not. All I know is that car is sacred.

I do so love my job. I love the freeway. Somedays, I work with only the silence of the edge of the world, and the powerful noise of my destructive machinery. Somedays, I do not acknowledge I am staring down all our final journey. I listen to music and human stories of love and comedy. Somedays, I cry; somedays, I do not remember. Somedays, I wonder when my weathered bones will be swept off my aching feet by the Mile Man and gently belted into the front seat of the Caravan. I wonder when will my calloused hands travel past Mile ∞ to the Beyond where the road and the sky meet.

The edge of the World is a Freeway exit, and I am the eternal grounds keeper.” - ↻

[panopticon-entertainment]

I met god in a cornfield.

You’re never supposed to go into a cornfield alone, ‘specially at night. You don’t know how easy it is to get lost. How easy it is to walk for miles before coming out on some empty road you’ve never seen before, unsure if you’re even in the same universe you were in when the evening started.

I’ve never been good at following the rules. Just ask my teachers at school, my hands end up taped to the desk at least once a week ‘cause I won’t stop tapping my fingers. Or I gotta stay late in detention for chewing gum. I’m bad at following rules, so when the sun went down, down to the fields I went. With nothing but the clothes on my back and my high tops with the worn-out laces.

Keep reading

[panopticon-entertainment]

I hate memes. They aren’t relatable and sustain vicious cycles

[panopticon-entertainment]

Thrill

“But I can’t face that I miss that we were...”

In which Vela receives strange company for a night of unreality.

His boots were taller than his sternum to temple. He tended to hide in the backrooms of the club unless he saw something there for him. He was beautiful and decorated like a metal working piece. But he hid in the rubble and debris. He preferred this corpse of a building that kissed his club. With a cigarette in his mouth, he leaned out the window that was swarmed by the littlest of bright pink roses that at this point of year had wilted and were held onto by stem and thorns vainly hoping to stay lovely. From this vantage point he could see the folks who dared the district on this rainy, late autumn night, but they could not see him.

He felt hands rest themselves on his leather wrapped hips. The hands touched and tugged a little. He turned and the fellow released.  

“Someone’s here for you, Mr. Vela,” His rocky voice softly declared. His eyes hungry.

Vela leaned off the window and shifted to leaning his backside on the wall. He inhaled on the cigarette. His face void of energy as Owner stepped toward him, “It’s beautiful out there. I don’t want to hole up in a room tonight. Did they really ask for me?”

“It’s that boy. The friend of Gary.”

Vela shook his head, “Send him home, I can’t-“

“You’re here, aren’t you? I’m not paying you to look out windows.” Owner kept Vela looking at him.

“Don’t pay me tonight them,” Vela turned his head and glanced out the window.

“What? Are you waiting for something?”

Vela formed a very full response in his head but held his tongue. He muttered, “No,” and looked back at the other.

Owner smiled. “Ok,” he slipped his fingers around one of the straps low on Vela’s outfit. A little yank to keep his attention, “Go out and deal with the kid.”

Vela removed Owner’s hands from him and stepped away. He threw the cigarette on the cracked cement floor and stomped it out with his boot, “Aye aye.”

“That’s my boy.”

Vela ignored the taunt and walked himself back to the barrier. The club was so bright so full of life. A mirror of the burnt hell behind it. People, lights, beauties on stage, and clean floors. The floors were ceramic black and white, but the stage’s LEDs lit the whole open space magenta. Everything was pink tinted. Everything but the blackness seen outside the windows. The crowd was inclined to keep in groups tonight. There was no large movement on the open floor. A somber night it seemed.

The kid didn’t seem to be there. Vela couldn’t see him. Vela didn’t want to see him. He moved towards the area near the entrance. That area. That’s where those quiet newbies waited or shyly tried to peep at the stage. That’s where he had met this kid. He wasn't here. Maybe he left.

Vela stared at the window. It was black and distorted out there. It was raining and the streetlights shined. A faint orange glow faded in as Vela was to step closer to look. He heard horns blaring. And chatter as if he was standing amongst the street. His brain sent the signal to run. But a hand held his shoulder.

He turned, “Will?”

A little more than a boy held his interest. He was short and seemed even shorter beneath Vela’s accessory. The boy held such a smile. Suspenders, bow tie, button up shirt. Vela’s mind short-circuited.

“Jamie, I found you.”

“Will, you,” Vela stammered while Will guided him to the cushioned couches beneath the windows, “you ki-“

Will put a finger over his moth, “uh uh, shh. Relax Jamie,” He leaned over him putting their faces very close together, “It’s all ok.”

Will touched mouths with Vela. Vela let his eyes close but the lights that reached through his eyelids strobed. They weren’t, right? He slid away with his hands to his head, “You’re not Will, You’re not, You’re not Will.”

He opened his eyes to an orange mush. They were struggling now to keep form over Vela’s body. The glitching, oozing figure seemed to melt right there, entrapping Vela’s feet. Flight in his mind, he unclasped his boots and left them to Goop. Flailing to get their remnants off of him. He glanced out the window, and something sickly glanced back. It smiled. The sudden light of a car barreling toward the building backlit the deformed thing. He closed his eyes as the horn blared, and he felt his body move as a ragdoll.

He opened his eyes on the carpet floor.

“Will no!” he screamed seeing the visage of six years passed. He tried to stand up with the blood of his forehead trickling into his eyes, “Will, what did you do?” his broken slit voice muttered out.

Hands covered his eyes, “That’s not me Jamie,” Will’s voiced echoed in Vela’s head, “That’s not me.”

Vela’s eyes uncovered.  

He wore stilettos as long as wrist to middle fingertip. He wandered the district in the rainy night. Looking for pay. Drumming up business. The rain kept his bare skin warm in the below warm night. He was looking for blonde hair. He liked curly blondes. All the flowers and bushes along this area were on their last legs. Highlighted by dying browns. The district was just one turn away from normal society. One easy wrong turn from the Walmart, the craft stores, and the restaurants. If he stood in the right spot, he could gaze down the slope and watch the Walmart parking lot.

He sighed.The world was so empty today. At a little table he took off his shoes to walk barefoot. He missed sneakers.

A mirage of voices snapped his head over. A group, he thought, had to be over there. He heard a group of bros and where they were moving. They had parked here but were walking back into the light. Climbing down the hill to the superstores below the filth above.

“That poor thing looks cold,” One of the men said after flickering eyes over Vela.

“Ey, Darby give ‘er your coat.”

At the beckoning, the stray man in a dense but weathered suit coat approached Vela.

He, noticing the full-on approach, rose himself on flat feet. That face was familiar.

“They gonna run you pretty things ragged leaving ya out here like this here m-” Darby faltered on his words as he met face to face with Vela, “They outta dress ya better. Here,” He removed his jacket and offered it.

Vela’s eyes began to water a tad, “Thank you sir,” his voice did scarce more that breath out, “I-,” he swallowed, “When I see you return, I’ll give-”

“Nah don’t, it's yours,” Darby patted Vela’s bare shoulder, “it's more fitting for a fella like you anyway.”

Vela nodded, with a smile. This moment felt more like a memory with the haze of wet street lamps as he watched his old friend walk away. Hugging the jacket to himself. A piece returned. He watched the men walk away glitching and morphing inhabited by some creature that lived to torment. He put the suit coat on. The inside was full of blood. Moist and trickling. His eye popped in that moment, but it was his blind eye. Fitting, some fucking prostitute covered in his own blood time and time again. The only buyer. The only buyer finally came down the street that night. No blonde hair, just a face full of maggots. A hand full of scalp instead of flowers.

Vela turned around. Grasping his shoes, he reentered the cerulean tinted party room of the building. The floor and chairs were filthy, but these patrons didn’t seem to care. A house of filth. The whole world shuddered in his eyes when a crusted hand touched the back of his neck and trailed down to his back in the midst of the dance floor. He dared to keep on going, but the grimy thing took him by the blood crusted stomach and spun him to face it.

It’s fly eyes were impossible to trace. It could have been looking anywhere, but it sure made sure that Vela was looking at it at all times. A tilt of the head, a flicker of reality. The building turning red and back in spirts as this sick thing put Vela on his knees. He tilted his head down.

He was backstage. Sitting on a couch outside the hoard of dressing rooms. No longer dolled up. But his tank top still tight. His shorts still form fitting. He missed sweats. He missed jeans. He was still wearing heeled boots. A moderate size, but nonetheless they were still heels. The hall had a silent cacophony. Sex, distant music, slight rain... screaming, crying, and the electric buzz of the floreant lights above. He had to move. He found the barrier.

The backrooms laced with the smell of charred dust was so cold, but Vela didn’t mind. He had Darby’s old coat still in his hands although he didn’t put it on. He crouched by the window again. A rainy evening. It had to be much past evening. Out the window all the subtle sounds the outside world had to give were present. He could hear chatter again.

Maybe a movie or a show was getting out, or it was past cop patrol, but those rainy streets were filling up, Vela watching with smoke in his mouth. These were the conditions in which reality was weak. There he was! That pretty little blonde boy with a hoard around him. He always had so many people around him. That boy with the blood-soaked hair and stained hands. Permanent stains but he always was so happy. Happier.  

A showboat with each arm around a girl. A leader. It’s like what he did made him better. The outside got fuzzier. Not for more rain but for more lachrymose in Vela’s own eye. Each blink after that sent him back and forth from room to room. Maybe Will would meet him back there. They never remembered each other at the same time. In some time, Vela laid in that empty glitched out room on the floor. He’d lay here forever if he got to be him again. He tried not to blink. Don’t blink. Don’t blink.

But he was back at the window and his blonde boy was laughing.

He ran through the barrier. He wanted to run as far away as he could with the bloody boy. He ran out the barrier through the building to the outside. Momentum cut short by sharp skin. The bug grabbed him. Dragging him amongst the thorny and hugging him to the ground beneath the sight of anyone else. Hearing the entire area around him. That boy was happier, and he had friends. He had made it out. Under this bug’s grasp, Vela jerked. He’d drag that boy down with him. He couldn’t vocalize. If he opened his mouth the taste of the bug’s hand would be enough to drop him dead. He couldn’t stand to hear Will smile. He promised.

Deflated in that parasite’s arm, his head throbbed and his eyes closed laying against the moist, disgusting mass of mold. Why did they only let him relive the painful memories. Why was the bug’s skin so sharp against his own as the bug undressed him.

It had to be passed evening. It had to almost be morning. His heels had spikes on them. His toes hurt. He leaned against the bar counter with another shot in hand. The club played the quiet sound of children screaming, but it didn’t really bother the patrons. The mint tinted patrons in the mint tinted grime. The burn of alcohol. A man walked into the club that caught Vela’s eye. As that man shut the door the screaming seemed to take over the music. Children. The man headed toward the back. Noticing Vela watching him, he sauntered towards the area the hookers took up.

Without so much as a hesitation the man touched upon Vela’s backside and pressed his own crotch to vela’s backside. Vela, used to being touched so but not by this man, turned to look at the man.

“Ey, they doll you boys up now,” He turned Vela around and held him at his hips, “I thought you was a woman.”

“They do, sir,” His own voice was hoarse.

“How much ya chargin’ to uh,” he bumped his head toward the back area.

“Well, don’t you want a woman?”

“I don’t care as long as you can do what I tell ya. Besides the boys are usually cheaper.” He held up a cash deposit.

Vela looked at the man with a fearful respect but took the starter and the man back to the rooms used. The room Vela used had a couch and a bed. He let the man in first. There was woman already mostly passed out on the couch. As if Vela was invisible, The Man’s focus switched to this unsuspecting woman. Vela was no longer wearing heels. All movement either moved to fast to all be seen or two slow to be fluid anymore. The Man took off his belt. Man hit the woman. Vela’s voice caught in his throat.

The sound of each hit took over the colors of the room until the placid linoleum and white brick opaquely resembled yellow walls and loved on beige carpet.  

Man hit Her again.

He hit her and dropped his weapon. Man advanced on her. Drunk enough her nerves had barely registered the hell of this all, the woman barely even tilted her head up. A sick memory,

“Dad! Stop,” Fully in the motions of a younger body, Vela threw all his arms and mass over Man’s arm to stop his advances.

Everything flickered. Man began to melt in Vela’s hand. Man threw him against the wall The top of his head smacking the concrete of the fireplace. He tried to run. Man rapidly approached with fire in his eyes and fists ready to bruise.

“No!” Vela squirmed but Man pinned him down on his legs. A fist came down and a brick hit his head. A fist came down water smacked. A fist came down laundry hit his head.  

Everything moved as every time they’d been in this scene before, but the pieces morphed. Man was potatoes. The floor was jelly. The belt was intestines. The belt Vela could touch with his toes and as fist shaped apparatuses bloodied and molded his face. He took the snake in his hand and lunged for the neck. Choking Man’s plastic neck with a thick spaghetti noodle.

He killed him.

Vela grabbed the crumpled paper that replaced the phone. He did this. He did this. Mortified. The screaming of children had ceased.

“Hello?”  

The full body relief of hearing Will's voice, “Will?” Vela sobbed. The programming had stopped. He knew. He knew, “Will, I did something bad.,” he still said.

A static silence on the line.

“Will I need y’all’s help please can you-”

“Jamie?”  

They were out of the cycle.

“Will,” Vela’s voice shook, blood and tears streaking across his face over and into his mouth, “Will where are you? I miss that we were”

“Jamie, I can’t feel my hands, Jamie my ribs hurt I think he pierced my lung.”  

“No no no Will, don’t say that. you’re here right. Will. Will?”

Silence again on the other end.

“Will, please you promised.”

Through static, he spoke. It didn’t sound like him, “I... promise....”

“Will?” A static took over the speaker shrieking until Vela lost hope of hearing anything more and threw the phone down.  

No longer moving in the patterns of the past, the walls of the house streaked away back into the sex room. He touched his face. Patting himself. No blood. Only lachrymose from his seeing eye. His shoes were flat platforms. He had the eyepatch over his blind eye. Some people thought it looked gross. He stepped as gracefully as he could out of the tunnels and to the only window in the functioning part of the area. It had stopped raining, but there was still too much night left. Vela leaned on the windowsill. His long coat highlighting a chill on the open areas of skin on his clothing.

The night sky, and maybe it was a fucked-up reflection of the window, looked like it was tearing. Bleeding red instead of black. The roses along the walls did glitch. No swaying. Jerking as if they’d been hit. And hit. And hit.

He turned away from the window to face the dreary white hall behind the stage. There was no one there. Radio silent through the hangers of clothes, and the couches, and the closed doors, and the snacks. Nothing moved. A three-D photograph. He took off his shoes at the window and left them there to walk the sticky floors barefoot. A hug to himself. He stepped out. The night had to almost be over. He set himself down on one of the spot-stained couches. They put covers on them so the stains weren’t on the couch itself. He wanted to sleep.

His head bobbed up from shut eye taking over. He had jeans on. There was a man beside him.

“It’s like,” this man's visage shuttered as if a screen glitched in him, “like Will gave some of the boys’ new life. Fresh young blood.”

“He just needed the place to thrive. He’s never been shy. He never wanted to be so quiet,” Vela responded, “I can’t believe getting mowed over by a van is the best thing that happened to him.”

Gary laughed, “Between you and me, and yknow I don’t get all that queer stuff, but I don’t know how anyone could label that kid anything but a boy.”

They had given him a good memory.

With tears down his face, a happy kind, Vela nodded, “He could have held the world in his hand. No,” Vela shook, “He still will.”

Gary laughed, “Let’s hope not I mean, Oh!”

Something came flying through the wall. A football Vela begged. But when he blinked the den’s hue turned red. Red as can be. Turning to his friend, Gary laid as a skinned corpse betrayed and terrified. Vela stood up and tripped on another's body.

Vela stammered trying for words. Dale had equipped his pocket knife but too late. Vela grabbed it. He wasn’t going to blink again. With his eye filled with blood and an eyelid in hand, Vela cried, “Will!” A checkpoint. His eye squinted and tried to blink out the blood. Vela delicately wiped it away with an old tissue in his ratty old jean pockets.

“You Left me!”  Someone screamed. In the room, around the room, from the walls. Shrieking noises. Someone crawled out. Of the floor or a door no one knew.

Blonde. So much blood tinted him from top to bottom. Button up shirt burnt. Shorts. He was always so small. Limping on his rainboots.

“Jamie!” He was screaming. He hadn’t noticed Vela’s presence, “Jamie,” his voice was a broken high sob, “Please, that wasn’t me come back.” He was approaching Vela by accident. He wandered towards the exit door in a daze, “I didn’t... their flower,” He was to fall to the floor exhausted, bleeding out, and sobbing, but Vela caught the boy. Pretty blonde boy.

Vela caught him. His skin was sharp and slimy, but he still had his skin. Vela wrapped his arms all around the boy supporting him as he cried. The room was changing color undecisive on where it wanted to pretend to be. Vela’s eye was drying. He took some of the boy's tears to wet his eye as if it would heal his own flesh and blood. The room was desperately trying to blink.

Will seemed to realize that what was was not what was. This was a different track. He patted the body that held him. He looked up, “Jamie? Jamie! I Found you they- they-” he stammered but Vela just held him tight.

“Will, what did you do,” Vela whispered out.

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Will shook him, “I don’t know, Jamie. I’ve seen you, though, I’ve seen you and-” The building thundered and the hues and tones of the rooms were distorting and trying to fade out. Something angry was coming. Will shook himself, “They tried to steal the gift of Life’s love. Jamie, we’ll crawl out of this I promise. I promise!” Will, in terror, looked around at where bangs and shakes were heard.

“That’s not what you said then.”  

Will looked up at him and reached. He kissed him and they held. Vela wasn’t sure if this was a memory, a hallucination, a false memory, or some sort of premonition. He’d felt this kiss on every night like this. But still, he held the boy just as tight as he ever did. Mouth to mouth as the entity approached. Will began to melt. Vela’s eternally open eye could see his colors and composition change. The echo of a promise as the boy melted in his arms. The last thing will could do was cover Vela’s eye to make a blink.

He had boots as tall as his sternum to his temple. Clad in his leather, he hid in the backrooms of the club. He wanted to watch the sunrise. He was so close. A cigarette in his mouth he leaned out the window that was sieged by the littlest of bright pink roses that at this point of year had wilted and were held onto by stem and thorns vainly hoping to stay lovely. From this vantage point, he could see the folks who dared the district on this rainy, late autumn night, but they could not see him.

He blinked a few times. No eyepatch, not anymore. The dead eye was a conversation piece. Fetishists loved someone interesting. He saw a group of teenagers who dared to stare at the twenty-one plus club. They gawked at the girls who walked the sidewalks. They always tried to see if they could get one to break the rules. None of them dressed well. The only button ups were flannels. Some in muscle tank tops in the rain. They weren't dressed for the weather, but they didn’t care. They were having fun in clothes made for them.

Vela felt a hand on his backside and greedy eyes upon him. He turned around slowly. The Owner looked much older than he remembered. Meltier. Viler.

“Mr. Vela,” His voice was an inhale and a pop, “I don’t pay you to look out windows.”

“I want to watch the sunrise.” Vela said, incredibly tired.

Owner got closer, “Watch it where people can watch you. Go outside.”

“Sir,” he looked down at himself, “I can’t go out in these shoes.”

Owner laughed, “Make it work. Why that’s your uniform. Now go!

Vela gave a line of a smile and gracefully abandoned his window. He threw the cigarette on the cracked cement floor and stomped it out with his boot, “Aye aye.”

“That’s my boy,” The Owner slapped his ass.

Vela ignored his taunt and walked through the barrier. Through the salmon tinted main area. So many eyes on the tall Hispanic guy dressed like some metal working piece by a lustful man. The few windows the dance area had were black and slightly fuzzy via rain streaks. Even the sky cried on this place. He exited the doors and felt the chilling, sharp air. There was no one out. No one nearby. He paced up and down the hooker path waiting for any change of coloration in the sky. It was still black. No stars.

A figure. There was someone coming up the street. Shuffling. It was a group. It seemed. It seemed to fluctuate. Vela lit another cigarette. The smoke beating the scent of rot that was filling the air. The first figure seemed boneless and orange with an almost human face. Surrounded by creatures who glowed and change and fluxed in the shape of a human. They wore a mass of long, dead, yellow grass on their head as a makeshift blonde wig. Vela sighed and sat down on a picnic table. These horrid amalgamations coming ever closer.

Vela took off his shoes. Socks touching the cement below his feet. The terror would come. The terror would come, but he wanted to be able to run. That’s truly what he was good at. The sharp hand of a bug wrapped around the back of his neck. It held tight for control.

The orange goop stopped a few easel lengths away. The Bug jerked Vela up and walked him close as The Orange Goop presented the battered blonde boy. Looking as if he had just been hit by a car. The Bug pushed Vela to his knees. His skin torn wide on the asphalt. The Goop held Will in an all-consuming hug. The creatures made of static flickered the familiar faces of the bros they once had.

The Bug crouched down putting his face in Vela’s. It touched their faces together. It stood up and walked to Will. It pushed aside the cage of goop, and he surveyed the little blonde who was bruised from head-to-toe with arms and legs torn to hell. Nose crooked, eyes melting. Open button up showing a stomach of melting ground beef. Bug began to touch the boy. Its sharp hands against his side, his neck, his cheek, his breast.

Vela stood up on his toes fast only in this moment willing grab Bug around its torso, “Not him. Please, not him.”

Bug hit him atop the head knocking him down. Ripping him back up to his knees. It held him by top of his arm. Pressing its razor-sharp fingertips into his skin. With a blow in his eyes to make him blink, the fiends took him back to the room. A memory. He knew this was a memory. Young Will and the bros. A crowbar in hand Will swung it into Darby’s chest. It was Will. He did it. He did it. The other men to in shock to move. Will was fuzzing. Colors fading in and out. Some goop rose to give him more tools saw blades to Gary and Dale. Paul was going to fight. Will did it. Will did it.  

A phone rang

He stared at Will who struggled under Bug's hand. Vela blinked and blinked. A few more moments in the room he’d find him. Will promised they’d crawl. He promised. Bug was about to do something. Vela rose again and attack Bug at the back of the knees trying to get it away from the blonde boy. It was determined. This creature of misery.

The sky was brown. It was becoming orange. They were almost there.

Vela beat Bug back to Will and joined him in the goop. Holding him at the waist. foreheads together, “Will, what did we do? What-”

“They tried to steal life’s love,” Will sobbed, “Jamie, don’t leave me,” he put his fingers in Vela’s hand, “I don’t know where we are. Am I dead?”

Vela blinked but all he could see was Bug coming back to screw them. Blink. Blink, “You promised we’d both be dead. Will, that’s what you promised! What did you do,” Vela begged him.

“It wasn’t me, Jamie. It wasn’t-” Will’s last scream was cut off by Vela being thrown back to the ground. Scraping the rest of him up.

The world was falling apart. The cement was grass. The sky was redder and redder. Bug was touching the blonde boy again. Vela tried to rise again but a piece The Orange Goop held him. Bug put his rotten fly face to the blonde boy’s bruised face. He squirmed. It began to kiss him. Little squirms. Little nos. That pierced Vela’s ears in the static that replaced night silence. It was touching the boy. It was moving down. Vela cried. Bug, with hands right about his short lines, looked back at Vela with the vilest, most taunting, look. It would ruin a boy to bully a playmate.

All Vela could do, coated in goop was reach and try and crawl himself. Will reached out throwing any momentum he had to try and get out of the sap tomb that was this creature. He let out a little cry as the Bug’s ragged old hands touch what was most sensitive.

The Orange Goop, as it so often did, had gotten bored. Vela was able to burst. Hearing the new type of cry from the blonde boy he so felt obligated to defend. He took Bug by the hips ripping him away. He fumbled for its thousand-year-old belt and removed it. He slipped it around its neck and pulled it down to the ground with his own body weight. With them both on the ground, he began to choke it. It didn’t seem to mind it. It seemed to smile.

“Run!” Vela screamed at Will.

“Jamie? I can’t leave-”

“I left! It's your turn,” Vela told him with a strain to his voice.

“I’ll find you.”

“We didn’t win. The sun is here. Go! Forget! I’ll find you.”

Will, bloody and broken, listened and on bare feet took off running down the hill. Disappearing into the darkness. The sky was turning red. Vela stopped choking the bug. The static creatures left. The followed Will.

Bug crawled to a sitting position. It turned to him and Vela could hear its skin cracking as it smiled enough to laugh. The sky was turning orange. Bug was on top of him. It kissed him farewell. It took his head and smashed it against the asphalt. One. Two. Three. Who needed bones anyway.

Vela exited the changing rooms of the now sunlit mess of a formerly clean club. He wore sandals with heels the size of his middle finger. He waved goodbye to the other girls and guys who had more of a rush to go. He lingered a bit longer to prey at what was left of hooker catering. He was more casual now with studded booty shorts and a long coat covering his heart patterned tank top.

“Ey, good work today boy,” The Owner came to him holding an envelope, “I knew ya’d be a hot commodity when I found ya. Here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Vela took the envelope.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow night, ey,” The Owner put his finger to Vela’s chin circling it down his chest, “I got a new outfit set for ya to try.” He put his hands to Vela’s nipples fiddling, “May had somethin’ to do with a harness. We’re gonna get you in rooms I don’t wanna ruin you walking around.”

“Of course, sir,” Vela said shyly.

“I can tell you did some work, look at those knees,” Owner whistled looking down at the rug burn that Vela had acquired, “Lucky whoever got that,” Owner winked at him, “Anyway go rest up. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Vela nodded. His sweetness melting to abhorrence as he got out of sight. The envelope was cash. He just had to remember. No one else would take a kid like him. The windows and the skylight of a cleared sky tinted the club a dusty yellow for the bright sun.

Vela walked out the doors to the sunlit district where normal folks traversed to shop and eat at this area of luxury. It was a beautiful day, he thought, walking away from the den of sin. He’d go sleep in the park, he thought. After he tucked away what he had earned in the storage unit. Whatever he had put into his body to survive the night were gone. He had survived. He had survived many things. But this, he knew, wasn’t living at all.  

[panopticon-entertainment]

Essential Questions #1

How do you appease a ghost whose wrong doers are already dead?

[panopticon-entertainment]

On God’s Land

Even years later, walking into the green rooms inside of the “School of Chaos” felt immediately like a mid-October weekend. The clock in sheets filled out by tens of amateur scare actors. Costumes hung up but still out as if someone was coming to clean them or even wear them again one night. Make up containers that were never closed. Pools of hardened latex, crusted clown white, fake blood that smells of plastic. The chainsaw gas has all evaporated. Expo marker messages cover the mirrors. All as if tomorrow every ghost would be back to perform one more glorious show.

The costumes are all moth bitten. Masks dusty and smelling of spit and hotdogs. They were never washed. Nothing was ever washed. Water bottles half empty, chips and snack bags full of cobwebs. It’s been so long even the spiders, flies, and cockroaches have left. The air is stagnant. The feeling of shoulders brushing and chatter is sounding permeates. It feels like around every corner an actor will be sitting half done up and waiting for it to get closer to opening time. But there is nothing. Just a mess left for someone else to clean up. Memories tainted and bodies that will never return anywhere. It smells like dust, and it feels of bittersweet joy. This was the last happy things many, many people were part of.

Step a few feet and step into the School of Chas. The sets are all still up. Water bottles can be found in every crevice and hole in the wall. Walk underneath chandeliers made to look dusty and old that have truly become. Cemeteries, corpses, home set ups, burns that all feel in bad taste now. Close the eyes and feel the hundreds of memories that are walked through with every step. Happy actors, scared patrons, maintenance runs, set up, tear down, and tours upon tours. They all happened here. Everything seemed to have happened here once. Some girl had her first kiss with an actor during a traffic jam. Some kid fell of the fake walls trying to fix lighting. Someone got in a fist fight in this room. Someone cried in another

Find the half exit and walk to the boiler area. The Vivarium is still set up. Thousands of dead insects set up by the kindest soul. Less happened here but listen for the echoes of laughter in the burner where the bug actors used to crawl into and pretend to melt to death like an ant in a magnifying glass. The vivarium is maybe the sweetest place when the memories are overbearing.

Stepping outside you can see it just off there. The charred remains of the renovated dorm. Twenty-eight people burned there that night. Leaving this land to be tainted and scarred. Hop the fence, The clowns and the creatures are left the same. Just the same as that last October day. See Cornish Hall across the lot. Thirteen children wasted. This land is a curse.

But everything feels like that last October evening. Guests will come soon to experience fun. Actors will come and play up on death. The night will be crisp and no cares in the word. Just like it was. Only how it was.

[panopticon-entertainment]

Goodbye and Welcome to our panopticon. You can call me Spiral but that isn’t my name.