Touch Me, Feel Me

I sympathize with the hero.

Always, mainly because the hero of the story deserves the audience's attention. The hero is always good, honest and ballsy.
The hero is quite interesting, as a figure. Never a flawed character, but always one.

I'm not a hero.

In fact, I'm less or more than a villain. I use less or more rather then better, simply because less or more is less subjective. It's less relative, and more vocational than anything else.

My judgement is quite flawed, and my tattered history can flip flop me both ways.

You're right. The minutes I waste trying to sleep, the hours I spend being harassed by my own subconscious.. the spiders.. Oh the spiders. They're all there, making me less of a hero.

I sympathize, but do not empathize.

Those people all know nothing about me, and yet my villain spirit lives with them daily. A Mercenary, so to speak. Though, my contact is never with my targets. I know them intimately, less of a cat and mouse game.. more of a real life story.

Or a story, of someone who will always be intangible.

I heard one of them speak once. A reconnaissance call ended up becoming quite an experience. My team members gave me odd looks as I went on about favorite bands and New York City. When I finished, and put my phone down.. I did not speak, did not show any emotion what so ever. I just said to them, "Do what you need to do."

I suppose that makes me the villain doesn't it? I'm just doing what I need to do. Answering to no one, not even clients.

It is my firm philosophy that the world operates solely in it's own underground. Being apart of the ever decaying society that is the underground, I've learned to hate it.

But it is the perfect active metaphor for our lives, is it not? Beneath each and every one of our crust of thoughts, lies the molten violent core. Deceiving and wrong. Brutal and beautiful.

Not many people cite the human nature that I love so much as beautiful. But I do. I've fallen in love with our corruptivity, so to speak. That's a word I constructed on my own.

Corruptivity, truly is the potential to be corrupted in measurable form.

It'll be in the dictionaries one day, I can assure you.

When the spiders return, to gnaw at the structured morals of my decaying intelligence. I will fall, inevitably.

And if I have to bring the whole world crashing on top of me, I will happily die the death that Atlas deserved. Suffocating under the corrupted values of our fallen fathers. Sleeping underneath the rubble of society.

You're right, I am a fucking villain. And you could be the next person who feels my intangible touch. If your assailant pays me enough that is.

The screech of the rubber sliding across the slick asphalt was music to my ears. It was the serenity of the seconds in the moment. Screeeeeech. Seconds seem to pass as I saw the headlights coming closer and closer.

I watched it unfold in the most beautiful way.

The look of surprised horror on his face. I almost wanted to say, don't be afraid my friend. You'll be just fine. Though, he wouldn't hear me if I tried. The plastic collided with the plastic, and the aluminum with the aluminum. The glass from my window shattered and flew into my waving hair.

The entire moment was poetic really. The words leading up to the explosion of the moment. Crunching and crushing cars. My music was loud, but I could no longer hear it. The airbags turned my car into a great pillow castle. My body bouncing back and forth as I tumbled and spun within my car.

I saw them coming. The large wooden obstacles strewn across my path. And as they approached, I did not scream or cry... I laughed. I laughed heartily and without remorse. I laughed right in the face of death, because it no longer phases me.

The crushing blow of a wooden spike at fifty miles an hour pierced my chest, and seat. Pinning me to this car forever. My vehicle finally came to rest. Ironically, right side up. My collapsed lung and severed arteries told me I had as much time as the length of my accident.

I choked and laughed again. The scene was quite beautiful in a horrific manner. The adrenaline was keeping the tsunami of pain from swallowing my consciousness. Ironically, draining me of blood faster.

My memories took me on a final tour of my life. The faces of the people who loved and cared for me. The sadness I'd have to leave them behind. I could hear the voice of the horrified man. "Oh my god, are you okay?"

I laughed with him. "Fine brother. No worries." My body began to choke on my deoxygenated blood. "I've never died before, it's been quite an experience." As parts of my brain fluttered with confusion and breakdown, I smiled.

"It might be the last time I ever smile, or ever do anything. Might as well go out with a positive force, if however slight." I thought to myself.

A positive force.

Positive force.

The sparkling blue stars began to fall into my moment. This was my moment, the final one in a lifetime of them. Blue stars sparkled on the distressed man's face. Speckled across my dusty dashboard and muddy broken car. Brightened my fading vision of the world for one last time. One last second.

I breathed in, to pain and suffering. The air escaped from my lungs slowly, caressing each cell as it did. And I did something, I've always wanted to end with. I sighed. I sighed a sigh of relief.

A sigh of contentment.

A

ghostly

sigh

of

freedom.

Spiders and Pills

The old wooden garage door moaned and clanked as it ascended. It kept mumbling about how the elderly shouldn't be treated this way, and how he always has to do all the work. The warm air from the garage wrapped around me as the portal opened pushing the cool night air away.

The earth spins slowly.

Night time here is always painfully serene, crickets chirping and raindrops falling. The humming of the peaceful orange street lamps, the perfect undertone. The world doesn't notice me there, waiting to enter my home. The world doesn't notice me here, waiting to enter my home.

My world spins slowly.

As I step into the open mouth of my garage, a dark cavern of modern culture. The crumbled rocks dance across the floor as my feet interact with them. The garage door moans once again, as it descends back to it's resting place.

My hands grip the golden door knob connecting my cavern to my room. The spiders crawl out from the doorknob. Dancing their way all over my body, infesting my skin and nerves. I can see my reflection in the golden spherical knob, it bends and stretches and screams. It spins, slowly.

I still am waiting here, in front of this spinning knob. Waiting for the door to open.
With the spiders.
And the garage door.
And the crickets, and the raindrops.
And the street lamps.
And the world.