These words rattled about in my head for far too long before I committed them to paper. I was afraid that once I had begun the journey, after so much preparation, that I would stumble at the first hurdle; the first test of my endurance. My entire life being situated in terms of my ability to control them, this was a big step for me to make. The overwhelming fear of uncertainty, of doubt, of unworthiness shattering self-belief at every point, made each dreadful step tortured and painful. My time sucked up by work, any spare moments spent asleep trying to find a world where I might, possibly, find some peace where everything slots nicely together and everyone can feel proud, and I can rest easy knowing that there are no doubts. I was to let all this go. Out into the world where it can grow on its own. Adapt to the new environment. There is no truth out there.*** No saving-grace. It shows us our deepest desires, and everything we’re scared of. Tread carefully, you might not like the shoes you’re standing in.
The form hung gently in front of my face, in my mind’s eye, waiting for me to place words onto it, like a web waiting for flies to enter its embrace. But like the fly I’m wary of such glittering, silver lined clouds. But it isn’t until its too late that I try to raise my head and realise that there is no escape. My body will be injected with a venom that will dissolve my own insides, destroying my own form until I am a carcass. A blot on a page. A forgotten name in the journals of history. An outline in the design of a bigger plan. I slowly become the methods I use to create material, until there is only the method itself, without substance.**** And what when the spider finally drinks the remaining nourishment inside of me? I will be discarded after that. No longer attached to the form I gave my life to I will only have the knowledge that I effected the web only temporarily, that my greatest gift went to the beast.
The clouds hung heavy over the small seaside town, the rain coming down in a sideways direction. I stood with my back to the castle on the low wall that separates concrete from rock, man from nature. With my arms stretched out to the side, and my coat flapping about, I secretly hoped the wind would pick me up and be kind enough to drop me head first on the rocks below. It had been a good ten minutes ago that I had lost feeling in my feet, now my whole body was numb to the world, but my mind was alive. I looked up at the sky as even more clouds gathered in a lour formation.
As I looked up towards the growing tempest I opened my mouth and screamed my own rage back, clenching my fists in frustration; the fingers I had neglected to bite the nails from drawing blood. The red liquid kissed the rain and turned pink, jumping from my hands in an ecstatic escape of honeymoon glory.
Soon I was out of breath and I fell back from the wall into the car park. I turned and ran the few steps to my car, closing the door to the torrent that was quickly growing. I looked down at my hands, and the blood, and with wide eyes waited for the feeling - the pain - to return to my body. My hands and face were warming quickly, but the rest of my body was still violently shivering because my clothes were soaked through. I stripped down to my underwear and struggled into the driver’s seat, pulling the car into gear in order to head home.
I gathered my clothes in my arms and ran to my house. Halfway up the garden path I slipped on a slug, smashing my head against the low wall that separates my garden from the neighbour’s. Unlike my nails the wall didn’t wait until my skin was warm before it reminded me what pain felt like. Searing heat rushed from the back of my head round to my face, sliding its way into my eye sockets and mouth as like a silver liquid designed to separate my mind from my body in order to free me and show me the way to reality.
I pushed myself into a sitting position, but even as my eyes focused on the doorway ahead of me, my mind let slip its grip on reality and I slumped to the side. I had been warned by my doctor not to go swimming, or partake in any activity where my sudden drift into dream world might result in serious injury to me, or to others. I’m not even supposed to drive. The car isn’t even mine; it’s my fiancée Megan’s. She’s going to be pissed at the bloody stains.
I decided that nail-scarred hands weren’t a good look, so I went up the garden shed and picked out a saw. Clearing a space on the work surface I lay may hand on the wood. Taking the saw to my wrist I began to make a few very faint marks, so I knew where to start. Once I found an angle and a stride at which to support myself, I dug a little deeper, severing the skin, creating a valley in which to balance the blade. Within seconds the blade was positioned between the scaphoid and trapezium in my wrist. Blood had begun to pour forth from the wound, quickly covering the tabletop and dripping off the edges of the table. Now, as I scored my way past the bone, deep into my wrist, came the difficult part. The twang of sinew breaking made the backs of my knees itch and the hair on the palms of my hands stand. I was feeling faint from the blood loss, but I was determined to sever my connection with the repulsive sight of my scarred hands. Halfway through. Tendons pulled back and relaxed. My whole body felt light, things seemed to look brighter. Even as I continued the monotonous movement of the saw I felt elated. Finally all there was left was skin, a strip of jagged flesh joining me to abomination. I reached under the table and grabbed a pair of shears. Placing one of the long blades underneath my hand I braced myself and slammed the handles together. The blades split through the remaining flesh and my hand came free, dropping to the floor. I wiped my brow and picked up the saw; now, the other hand!
Suddenly, the effect of the great loss of blood came over me in a wave of drowsiness that flooded my senses. I sat down against the workbench, in the pool of my blood, and shut my eyes. I couldn’t figure out how to cut my other hand off, having only one hand I with which to grip the saw. As I pressed my hastily bandaged hand into my armpit (thinking how comfortably the stump slid into the hollow) I drifted off to sleep, realising, all too late, the flaw in my plan.
The morning sunshine woke me and I shivered as that dull realisation that I was still alive gripped my mind. A neighbourhood cat had decided to sleep next to me, and I stroked it before standing up and stretching. The whistling milkman passed me as I stood there semi-naked. -Morning, he smiled, as he passed me again, having delivered the milk. -Morning, I grunted back. I searched my jacket for my keys before finding them on the floor, near to where I had fallen. Unlocking the door, milk bottle in hand, clothes bunched up and resting beneath my chin, I shivered as I realised The Severing had been a dream. I closed the door, denying the cat entrance.
On my way to the bathroom I passed through the kitchen, dumping my clothes in front of the washing machine, nodding my head curtly to Megan (an early bird to my second mouse), who just stared at me perplexedly. A few moments after leaving the room I returned, placing the fresh bottle of milk by her cereal bowl. I kissed her on the cheek, smiled, and turned about.
Our bathroom is a modest and practical room, combining bath and shower into a long, thin, deep plastic bowl, looked down upon by the stainless steel shower fixtures. Next to the bath rests the toilet, which is so close to the sink that I could, being male, easily switch from pissing in the sink, to pissing in the toilet, to pissing in the bath, if I so chose. I got into the shower, revelling in the water as it embraced my body and warmed my soul.
Having thoroughly washed the salt from my body I stepped away from the shower and walked along the beach, laughing and skipping under the heat, over the soft sand. I wandered along and came to a shack which served cool drinks and ice creams. I bought a beer and sat there, with my elbows on the bar, watching the activity on the beach. After some time a woman came and sat at the bar and, seeing that I had finished my beer, offered me another one. So we sat there, beach watching, drinking the cold beer from the shack, talking Hegel and Marx and Flynt. She looked at me intensely, and then the conversation fell away. -What happened to your hand? She asked. -Hmm? I looked down at my hands, remembering my prosthetic limb. Oh this? I held it up. Lifelike in its detail. Nails, veins, bones, wrinkles, all artistically moulded on with latex. Details as lifelike as possible. Detailed, but stationary. -I had an accident, I told her. -I work in a factory, and I fell asleep on the job. My hand went into the machine, the guard wasn’t down. Severed clean off. She looked at me with sympathy. -Kind of like in The Machinist, I said. -Have you seen it? -No, she replied. -I haven’t. -You should! Fantastic film! Christian Bale. Fantastic. -Bit crazy though right? -Lol. Yeah he is. Actually, no. Not quite like The Machinist, it was a lot quicker, a lot cleaner than that. Honestly, I don’t really remember. I passed out pretty quickly. She seemed intrigued. We talked for longer and then I asked her if she would like to have dinner with me.
The water stopped. I woke. I looked up and saw Megan standing over me. -Sorry, I said. -I fell asleep again. -Evidently, she said, sighing. She handed me a towel and left the room. I used me right hand to dry myself, cursing as I realised that I forgot to remove my prosthetic limb before getting into the shower. I must have forgotten that I even had it. That happens sometimes. The past blurs into the present. I have dreams and I think they‘re real. I talk about events that never occurred. Places that don‘t exist. Imaginary people more real than you and me. It’s as if for me time doesn’t run in a straight line. Time jumps about, throwing up bit’s and pieces here and there, and maybe I’m just more adept at seeing the replays than others, even if I can’t tell the replay from the original, or whether I notice time transposing the memory of my favourite birthday cake onto my engagement party. Sometimes I look at other peoples’ lives and wonder how they’ve achieved so much. And then I look closer and see just as many frays at the edge of their lives as anybody else’s. I try to be interested in other people’s affairs. Be a good friend. But the emotional effort tires me out. I used to think I was a romantic. The silent, mysterious type. But whenever the occasion to show emotion arose I wouldn’t know what to do. My mind slows down. My body fails to react. I’m silent because I’ve got nothing interesting to say. I’m not mysterious; I’m just oblivious to the highs and lows of normal life. We’re a disenchanted, restless generation.***** But I’m not looking for new kicks. Just something to keep me awake.
-MATT! Matt wake up! She shook me by the shoulders. I opened my eyes, smiling. -Hey. I said. -Don’t hey me. You did it again. -Did what? -Look! I looked down my chest. We were both naked. She was straddling me. I looked down at my flaccid penis. And then up at her face. She was crazy-mad, but I sensed sadness. She couldn’t take much more of this. I didn’t know what to do. -Sorry, I said. She smiled a sad smile. I got up to make some coffee. -Do you want some coffee, I asked. -Something to eat? -Yeah, that’ll be great, she said, and rolled over and went to sleep.
-Hear, try this. My oldest friend, Harry, passed me the mirror with the three lines of coke lined up. -Here. He passed me a rolled up £20 note, which I inserted up my nose. I snorted the first line, and switched nostrils, balancing out the effect between the two. I passed the remaining line back to him. It began to take effect almost immediately. My eyes opened wider, my pupils dilating. I sniffed. I always get a funny itchy feeling in my nose whenever I snort something. Light flooded into my eyes, brightening the room. It seemed bigger, more interesting. The untidiness almost purposefully designed. I looked at Harry; he seemed more alive than he was before. More real somehow, as if before he was just a figment of my imagination. -Harry, what is this? -Its coke mate, he said. -Yeah, I know, but is there anything else in it? It seems different from usual. -Not that I know, maybe a bit purer, it’s pretty well cut. Why, what’s wrong? His voice sounded louder, but more distant. The music had changed. It was cleaner, the instruments more distinct. It felt as if they were united in perfect harmony. -Nothing, it’s fine. It’s great. This had all been designed by some magnificent being. I felt happier than I had felt in a long time. As if there was a place in this world for me. I felt like it all made sense, and fuck anything that didn’t. Things were simpler this way. I felt alive. Like I was living. Like what I did was significant. It mattered.
-Jacobs. Jacobs, wake up! -Hmm? I lifted my head from my desk. Dribble running along my arm, coating the right side of my face. -What was that? I asked. It was my boss. -Have you got that report? -Report? -Yeah, you know the report that I asked you to do? -Oh, god. Look Barry, I haven’t got it, but I can get it. I’ll have it on your desk first thing tomorrow morning. -Jacobs. -Yeah? -This is your last warning. If it’s not on my desk in the morning you’re fired. -Sure. Okay. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t argue back. I just accepted. And then I fell back to sleep. [The next day] -Jacobs? -Yes boss? -You’re fired. -Yes boss. I packed my stuff and left.
I woke up in the middle of a suburban estate somewhere west of where my house is. My shoes had been stolen. And my watch. The box that contained my office supplies, and the few trinkets that had brought some humanity back into my office, lay nearby, strewn across the floor, a testament to their worthlessness. I reached into my pocket for my phone to call a taxi (Luckily my phone is a piece of crap that not many people would take even if you paid them). When he arrived the taxi driver wasn’t happy about picking me up on account of me not having any shoes, and being covered in dirt. He wasn’t too thrilled when I told him I didn’t have any money to pay him either. I convinced him I had been robbed and that I was a respectful member of society who pays his taxes and donates money to charity. He told me that I was funding state run terrorism and that I was better off burning my money in protest than give money to charities whose managers drive B.M.W.s and take paid holidays to the Bahamas.
Last Saturday I crashed Megan’s car. I was driving back from a meeting with some colleagues regarding the opportunity to establish our own business. It went pretty well, I think there’s a great possibility that we could go through with this. So I left practically ecstatic, filled with joy. An independent business run with clear goals based on real principles, with a sound financial program is what I’ve always wanted. Halfway home, travelling along the coastal path I found myself drifting off and the next thing I know I’m heading 60 mph down a slope and I don’t even know how I got there. The right headlamp smashed into a tree, sending the tail end of the car into a trajectory forcing it to go before the front end, the underside slightly lifting, which was exaggerated by a rise in the decent of the hill, resulted in the car spinning. The top smashed against another tree and crumpled. Wearing my seatbelt I wasn’t thrown from the car at its first impact. Rather I suffered a broken nose from the collision my face endured with the steering wheal. I was then forced back into my seat, which felt like someone taking a baseball bat to my shoulder blades. The roof caved inwards as it hit a tree, crunching into sharp curves, one of which was lucky enough to insert into my right arm, slicing down to the bone. It was 9 hours before I was rescued.
I’m not entirely sure what I else to say. Whether there is anything else of any importance. So that’s about it for now. Sorry I get confused. I forget what is real, and what isn’t. I live in a world where the boundaries between real and imaginary, dreamt and lived, become blurred. All I know can be summed up into two points. I love Megan, and I’m allergic to cats. Oh, and this story is completely true.****** It all happened.*******
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