Fiction, Quick draft of a short story about a sick bastard.

                                                  The River in My Mind

The bladder is aching, the head is pounding, the girlfriend is snoring, I wake up in my disgusting apartment. Why am I still here, what did I do to get here, are the questions I ask myself daily. These are questions I already know the answers to but I ask them to myself regardless to refresh my memory. I step out of bed knocking over last nights final drink, the drink that did its job and knocked me out. I light a cig and the fear of life enters my system as the cancerous smoke enters my lungs. I despise cigarettes almost as much as I despise what’s going on in my life, but I keep on doing both of these seemingly pointless activities, FUCK IT!

I don’t want to be this way, I have tried really hard to lead a good sparkly, healthy, green, organic, catholic, capitalist, meditation filled, alcohol and drug free life. My unrealistic desires and hopes are cancers, my failures are scars, how do I rid myself of these things, I wonder. It just seems my old self is just still too, how should I put it, fucking ingrained in me. The old self still likes to come out and destroy things, steal porno mags and kick cats every once and a while. The old me, thinks the new me, that I’m trying to be, is a bit of a faggot and not in a gay way. The kindda faggot I’m talking about is the queefy douche that we can all remember from school the faggy fucker that does all his homework and would happily suck a fart out of a priest’s ass if it were the thirteenth commandment. Even though my behavior is nowhere close to, or never will be, like that silly fuck, my subconscious likes to make me believe that’s where I’m gonna end up if I keep on fucking around with this being good and nice bullshit.

I could just see myself now all dressed in some grotesque outfit from American eagle handing out flyers in front of a church! It seriously makes me wanna puke and this cig isn’t helping.

I constantly question what turned me into this disgusting creature that society wants to medicate and lock up. I have always been intelligent and capable, my issue isn’t that women don’t find me attractive, I just stop believing society. I lost reasons to acquire what we are supposed to acquire in our American culture.  A wife, kids, a car, a good paying job, I don’t want any of these things. I want to wander and discover on my own accord, not to be bombarded by others opinions, but in todays society that’s considered a hobo, an outcast, and a degenerate.

My family has fought against my will as long as I can remember. They fought to keep me a part of a society that I see as flawed. I often dream of seeing it collapse just to smile in their faces and say, I told you so. I want to see the thin string that holds this society together snap and have all the pieces fall apart and devour each other out of fear. We live in a society that is increasingly more and more hooked on a low standard of being. We let our base desires control us without any thought of consequence, we live to consume, shit and reproduce with the least amount of effort.

But who am I to say anything, I am a conflicted animal in every regard, I lack control with women and substances, maybe it’s just the whole human race that needs to be wiped out, not just our disgusting society.

This fight has left me confused, tired and growing sicker by the day. I want this to just end, the only redeeming quality I see in man is his ability to create art, but at the same time that is being manipulated to sell more and more pointless products in which we will all eventually drown in. I wonder why I have to question god and my so-called superiors and society. Why can I not just be totally ignorant, live a stupid ignorant live, eat stupid ignorant food, have stupid kids and die in some stupid accident like the majority of the people on this planet. This world to me seems way to confusing and these social and religious idiots just allow themselves to be manipulated like cattle on a ranch marching to their deaths. These thoughtless actions of men disgust me to the core.

 Time for me to calm down, I can always sense when I’m ranting in my head.

            I guess I just have to keep trying to make it work, that’s all I can do, I guess. Try to find something or some way of living that works for me.

What’s on my list for today, let’s see.  The first thing on my list is to shake the horrible thought of jumping out this fucking window.  I turn on the espresso maker as I chuckle about the thought of me flying out the window buck assed naked smashing down on the street. I chuckle as I drink the black mud I call espresso, I chuckle like a crazy man because I have played out the whole sick event in my demented head every fucking morning and every day I hit the pavement just a little bit differently, but all with the same outcome with me floating down some amazingly blissful warm red river that I never want to get out of. Its my heaven, I feel myself in an eternal loop traveling down this red river, no one is around to disturb me and my mood will never change. In the dream I feel like I’m on a opiate rush with no fear of it ending, no life to return to, no thoughts to disturb me, just me floating down a warm red river with icy grey snow covered mountains in the distance. Ha, most people dream of never ending cheese burgers or getting banged by some silly bitch from one of those TV shows, I dream of a red river of nothingness, a purgatory, a never ending loop. To some that probably sounds like hell, but me, I don’t believe in foolish promises of heaven or hell. I know it’s just a fantasy.

The caffeine hits my system and I snap out of my dreams of blissful red rivers. I’m mildly anxious but ready to start my day. The delusions are starting to become even nicer as the bold dark roasted overpriced coffee rushes to my brain. The thoughts of jumping out the window, even though they were a few minutes ago seem like decades past. Now what should I do, I think to myself as I sneak past my girlfriend and out the front door and down my garbage filled hallway. In my travels down the stairs I step over a half dead bum, I fear bums they are the real life walking dead of our nightmares, but whatever stick to point, make a plan, do something with my day, don’t dwell in my head, I tell myself.  Try and change your perspective on things, don’t let yourself slip backwards, I say to myself.

I step out the door and the sun is coming up, the day is beautiful, warm and its even smells fresh which is a rare on my block in Harlem. We cannot expect any nicer of a day I say out loud. Now its time to get to task, what should I get myself into, what amazing shit does this city have to offer me, I say to myself. I’m trying to behave so maybe a museum and a nice sushi lunch that sounds good.  Just remember stay away from the booze, I remind myself. I look at the clock it screams at me” ITS ONLY 7 AM” way to early to do anything, so I start to get a little antsy and my thoughts begin to fester. I rush back inside to kill sometime in the apartment, I can’t stand sitting still, or waiting for things, it drives me nuts. I start to stare at the half bottle of gin in the kitchen and it calls to me” drink me you worthless degenerate bag of shit”. I laugh and say back to the bottle “go fuck yourself its only 7 in the morning”.  My girlfriend wakes up and asks “who ar ya tawking tah, “I don’t respond to the jersey accented woman of mine, she falls back to sleep her life away.

I’m a bit hungry and hung over, so I fix myself up a bit of a remedy, I gulp down two scoops of organic over priced almond butter and make a fresh kale and carrot juice, in hopes it will make me feel better about all the booze I pounded last night. I then try to meditate, calm down and gain some serenity, two minutes into deep breathing the room starts spiraling out of control so I leave with the quickness, out the door, down the stairs, over the bum, across the street, down the pit to the fucking train I go. I’m down in the dungeon we call a subway and my head is still spinning, I forget if I took my meds or not, which makes me kind of nervous. I have a love hate relationship with this metal fucking box on wheels we New Yorkers call a train. When its taking me someplace I want to go, I love it, when I describe it to some asshole from New Jersey I boasts its benefits, when its taking me to work or court it feels like a prison sentence on wheels.

Today its gonna take me to a place that I love, a place better than the one I’m in, a place to dilute my thoughts and provide me with some amazing illusions, The Museum of something and someplace! I love this museum, I can wander around the long halls for hours while daydreaming of living in one of the beautiful medieval bedchambers wearing my suit of arms while preparing for battle, I get a rush while I think of swinging all the beautiful swords and axes at invaders of many different lands. I dream of being a roman and crucifying Christians, I dream of being an alcoholic abstract painter or a morphine addicted surrealist. I can run all these beautifully fucked up scenarios through my mind and enjoy every experience from a distance. This is what art does to me; this is how it resonates through my soul. These are the images and fantasies I can abstract from a single splash of paint on a blank canvas or by seeing a roman gladdius sword. This is a natural drug, a visual hit of smack that makes me feel great.

            The doors of the museum open, I enter with haste, an hour goes by in a flash and I’m down off this so-called natural high. I look at the clock it screams at me “ ITS ONLY FUCKING 11AM”. Anxiety kicks in a bit as I try to figure what to do with the rest of my day. I get antsy real quick if I can distract my idol mind. I get fearful of the things that I may do to distract myself. The cat kicker in me always finds a way to come out when I’m bored, and that motherfucker is clever at manipulating me into doing some terrible things. But first things first, lets have a drink to pass some time before lunch and to calm this anxiety.

 I walk down the block to a faggy hipster looking Bar. Like everyone else with a brain, I hate hipsters; they are the hippies of my generation. A grotesque spoiled bunch of pretentious assholes to say the least. Suburban college educated assholes that think that they have the world coming to them because they got their liberal Arts degree from some faggy school. The green organic vegan type of clown that only secretly wishes he could eat a burger if his friends wouldn’t abandon him, is my most hated type, but that’s another story and I don’t care to anger myself pondering them at the moment, I want a big fucking drink to calm the nerves and stop the mind from racing. I walk in and its exactly what I expected, total douche central. I walk up to the bar and order a drink from the queef posing as the bartender. My first thought is to smack his stupid thick framed fake glasses off his fucking face, but I’m trying to stay out of jail so I opt to just ask for a double shot of gin. He says to me” what type we have like twenty different types ya know”. I hold my breath for a second and say to him “just give me the cheapest fucking shit, its all the fucking same” in a nice calm joking voice. He looks at me and scoffs like he knows my type, which is fine because I know his type, which is the type that doesn’t know my born and raised NY ass will beat the ever loving shit out of his suburban born fake trendy ass.  I can already tell where my head is going today which is no place good, someplace scary, I don’t remember if I took my meds. So I try and calm down a bit. I try to tell myself that New York has changed and I can’t act the way I used to. I try to tell myself that this guy just has a very different cultural background then myself and I shouldn’t judge him. The guy comes back with the drink, I smile, I gulp down the booze, and the bartender says to me while its still in my throat “ eighteen dollars sir”. This fucking asshole, who fucking charges eighteen dollars for gin, I smile leave a twenty walk right into the bathroom and piss all over the floor in hopes he has to clean it up.  I decide to leave the bar and upon leaving I tell the bartender he can go fuck his mother with a big smile on my face. The double shot barely hits me off, I’m starting to feel aggravated, and I can tell I didn’t take my meds today, which is a big fucking no. But whatever, its too fucking late, the fire that is my mood has already started burning, I might as well continue down this path. I decide to get this done right and head down to a hell hole more suited to my character, a dark bar down in the basement of some shitty building, that is mean and true to the core. A place where people go to hide from the world, a place where you can just be the piece of shit you are. As I walk to the dark bar a little voice in the back of my head tries to tell me I'm making a fucking mess of things, Its reminding me that I’m turning back into that that person I trying not to be, but the cat kicker in me steers me towards a liquor store to buy a flask, to shut down any voice of reason my disturbed brain may have. Before I can leave the store I crack open the bottle, I pour the poison into my mouth like it’s water, the cheap booze rushes down my throat like acid covered razor blades and hits my stomach like a swift uppercut. I pause for two seconds and let the booze enter my brain, I realize I drank way to much way too fast, but I smirk, because I know I’m heading towards a path of destruction and I really don’t give a shit. Only a small voice in the back of my mind tells me to just go home and sleep it off. That quiet voice is soon shutdown by the overwhelming urge to drink even more and get out of control. I stop thinking of the past or the future all I can do is be in the drunken present. I stumble to the bar that I was trying to get to, I walk in and its filled with some mean looking bastards, who I can tell don’t want me there. Being the tuff asshole that I think I am, I order a double shot of gin and a beer. I chug the gin and spit on the floor because of the nasty taste.  One of the mean assholes at the bar looks over and says” what are you some type of cowboy”. Without hesitation I smash my bottle over his head and stab his friend in the face with the top of the bottle. One of the other guys came from around the bar and tries to slash my face with a box cutter, I catch the razor with my bare hand and it cuts deep, really deep, I don’t feel anything, but I can see the blood gushing from my hand. Looking down at the cut gives me a nice image of that red river I’m always dreaming about. A warm feeling came over my body and I started to laugh. The whole bar stopped and looked at me like I was nuts, I smirk like the sick fuck I am and run out of the bar.

            I ran in circles before I even realized why I was running. It already seemed like night, which was odd because it couldn’t be past 1pm. The adrenaline started to ware off and I was in a bit of shock, but after a minute I realized I destroyed my day and if I don’t get out of sight I could ruin my life. I would rather be dead than locked up, I thought to myself. I looked at the blood rushing from my hand and I started feeling peaceful, like I was floating down that warm red river, but I wasn’t ready to travel to that place yet. I started to wrap my bloody mess of a hand with my t-shirt, and as I was wrapping it, I realized the razor cut me almost all the way from the palm of my hand down to my mid-arm, and there was glass in the wound. The cut was deep and gushing, it still didn’t hurt because the adrenaline was flowing through my system. I ran to a safe spot in some buildings basement to rest for a bit to figure out how I was gonna get myself outta this mess. I at least scarred one mans face for life and the guy who I hit over the head dropped like shit from an elephants ass., not sure if I cracked his skull, his brains could be all over the floor of that bar. I ran down into the subway and made it to an abandoned tunnel that I could walk all the way back to my neighborhood, if I could remember my way through the maze of tunnels. I used to run through these places as a teenager, doing graffiti, smoking wet and shooting rats to keep myself and the other degenerates I hung with entertained, I should be able to remember where I was going. As I ran down the first tunnel I felt the first real pang of pain from my arm, My body started to feel cold and, my mind is starting to slow down a bit. The dark tunnels started to all look the same as I made my way down, the graffiti has all changed so I wouldn’t be able to use any of these things as markers.  The booze was coming out of my system and then pain in my arm started to become immense. I tripped over the tracks and fell face first on the ground smacking my head on a pile of shitty bum garbage, I laid there for a second to trying to gain my wits, but I snapped to when I heard sirens and saw flashlights at the end of the tunnel. Self pity started to run its coarse on me, why couldn’t I just take my meds, why can’t I just be wired like a normal fucking man, why do I have to be like a crazy rabid animal. I hate my nature. I jumped to my feet and like the soldier I am kept on running to the light at the end of the tunnel, I started to become delirious. I made it to the light slipped and fell out of the tunnel twenty feet down onto grey and white jagged rocks. My body lay halfway in a dirty river. I can see my arm flailing in the water and the water was red with my blood. I felt no pain in the slightest, warmth came over my body that endless loop of floating down the red river came true, I looked around and the jagged rocks reminded me of the grey and white mountains that the red river from my dreams flowed between. “I’m finally here” I said to myself again while laughing. I took every bit of energy I had and flung myself into the river, floated down quietly and somewhat lifelessly.

           When I woke up, I couldn’t feel my body, nothing around me looked familiar, and I had no memory of what took me to this place. I looked down at my body and realized that I was handcuffed to a hospital bed, I went to move my other arm to grab the cuffs and it was missing. “MY FUCKING ARM IS MISSING”, I screamed at the top of my lungs. I flipped the fuck out. A nurse came in and injected me with some shit, which put me right back to sleep. I was half way in and half way out of a dream, I watched myself from the corner of the room lying in the hospital bed, and the floor opened up into a dark pit and I feel down into it. Me being handcuffed to the bed was the only thing that held me up from totally falling in. From the pit I heard wailing and all sorts of terrible sounds, it was truly a horrible sight. I was in my dream watching myself from the corner of the room in horror wondering what amazing drugs that fucking nurse gave me to trip that hard, then the pit morphed back into a floor and I felt myself back in my body. I woke up but I was still feeling slightly drugged, I looked in the corner and that fucking bum from my hall way was there. I screamed to him “ why do you have me prisoner, I never did anything to you”. And I passed back out. A few hours later I wake up and I’m a little bit more coherent. I turn over and a cop is sitting by my side and says, “do you know how you got cut”. I thought to myself they have no idea that I smashed that guy over the head and stabbed his friend. I smiled happily thinking I got away with it.  You are lucky that homeless man followed you,” said the cop”. “What the hell are you talking about “I said to him. “? You were drunk running through the basement of your building screaming about art, you slipped and smashed a bottle of gin and cut your arm deep, you then ran out of the building screaming towards the river and jumped 20 feet down onto the rocks, which is how you lost your arm. Your lucky your girlfriend called the 911 and the homeless man from your building followed you, said the policeman. If we didn’t give you your medication a few hours ago you would probably still be screaming uncontrollably.







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