New Fiction

I wrote this all tonight. So, do I need a shrink?

I headed to the alley that night. The alley was a place for night, where the harsh lamplight bounced off the angular maze of loading docks, warehouse walls, and concrete obstructions of less distinct purpose. It was a quiet place in the city, hard to get to for most. I don’t know why it was any easier for me, but it gave me a little spot of Version City, the place that everyone claimed but no one owned. I headed out, alone but the buzz of fluorescent streetlights, and the echo of gunshots and sirens in the far distance. When I’m alone, my mind works right, and when I’m right, I can write.

Words flowed from my hand like blood, my pen a needle drawing the mental anguish from my tired veins. It was like this more often than not these days. Gone were the times when a daily journal entry was about an interesting car on the road, or that one time when I actually saw a bird. All I managed to write about was her.

So she was one chick who I met at this guy’s bash earlier in the year, and we kind of hit it off, I kind of came inside her, and now I kind of think I’m in love. But if it were as easy as that, then the pain wouldn’t need to be drawn via pen, now would it? I had no idea who she was, other than a friend of a friend at the time, but about four days after that whole affair, she disappears. But tomorrow it gets interesting, because tomorrow, by friend of a friend’s word, she returns.

It had been about three weeks, and thinking about the whole affair had made my stomach restless and sleep hard to come by. This was the fourteenth night in these three weeks where I had wandered out to my alley to pour out my thoughts, sharpen my knife, and return home a little more at peace than before, only to have the next day fuck it up again. Stuck in a dead-end job in this dead-end city, my day-to-day had blurred into one big hallucinogenic streak, where nothing really began, nor did it end. There were hits, moments of clarity in the alley, brief and blissful inebriation at weekend bashes, and then that one moment, the bit of love that refused to leave, staining my mind just as filthy as I had left the couch that night. So that’s what mental clarity is: when you see all the little stains left on your psyche.

I returned to my excuse for an apartment at about four, falling into about six hours of fretful Friday night sleep. Awaking was difficult, though the absence of hangover made it at least bearable to drag myself into the shower. I was going to head down to the place around four, see what was up, and most likely thrash around later, either in the bad way or in the good way. I had too little patience with my own memory to make a bet on which would more likely happen. Had at least a few hours to wait around, though. That was never good on my part. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, as they say…and an idle mind makes for a good self-destructive time, at the very least. I tried scrawling a bit of legibility into a notebook, but the results were embarrassing. After a few hours of staring at the ceiling, and trying to think of something other than who I was about to see, I left early, hoping to take enough detours to not seem entirely pathetic.

It didn’t entirely work. I think it was around two, way earlier than any bash that was supposed to go on. I knocked softly, and the door was answered by my bro, Trey. He was not in his right mind, exactly. He stumbled back to the couch, grinning stupidly and tripping over dust mites on his way there. It was quietly revolting, and I wanted to turn face right then, forget what people looked like with a little day light smacked onto their faces. But then I saw her. It was her, no doubt, but it was not her. She had sunken onto a skeleton frame, retracted into a shadow of what I thought a person was. As the midday light appraised her every angle, it was clear what I had not seen. Ugliness is inherent, but in desperate times, one will forget it. I muttered to myself, thinking about what I was on that night, what had disappeared in the moonlight and bourbon haze. She looked up, and sneered.

“Fuck you.” I gave Trey a sympathetic look, and headed out the door. As I hit the outdoors, the nausea hit me just as hard. I got back to my feet, and looked around the dirty sidestreet. Trey’s motorcycle was left unlocked by his front door. I shrugged, found the key inside the door, and headed back. He was too plastered to notice anyway. I mounted the bike, starting it up with a turn and a rub. The engine moan made me smile, and I headed out to an open street. As I got further from the city, the wind woke me up fully, made me feel alive. The road led out through the tall grass, and I sped down as fast as I could. I was leaving Version City. I had to do something for my self now. No time like the present.

It was interesting. Not sure where it came from, nor where it goes. But hey. Why not, right?