I mean, once it happens … you can’t stop it. It becomes a black hole, and nothing can stop the it. Given the freedom of killing anyone you wish, you experience a complete paradigm shift. It starts selectively, of course. You can’t resist it forever, but I waited a week before I succumbed to the uncontrollable lust. After the first few days, it was no longer a matter of deciding whether or not to do it; I simply wanted to prolong my suffering to make my first indulgence all the most pleasurable.
I waited for her on the balcony of her high-rise apartment. She had no blinds, but she couldn’t see me through the windows – darkness tends to envelop me. She took off her red dress, and I baited my time. There is something so sinister, so innocent about a girl taking off her underwear, thighs together, feet apart. I could not wait… I sipped my wine, imagining I was sipping her. She would be my first, but I had to be careful not to break her. So fragile, so slender … she saw me: an expression mingled with terror and longing spread across her face. I grabbed her hair and she yelled, and I lost all sense of self. She sputtered and gagged and begged and pleaded, and I could do nothing but laugh and grip her hair tighter until she went limp… and laughed and laughed and laughed.
I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Even before, there’s been this profound sense in me that something is wrong, that I can’t do away with, no matter how much I’ve tried to convince myself it isn’t there. Then, when I had nothing else, I thought ... There once was this guy, I hated him, but not because he was a homosexual. I didn’t want to kill him or anything, because it wasn’t really his fault – he’d grown up living alone, off his mother’s support payments. I just wanted to scare him into growing up. He was big and brutish, with a cruel laugh and innocent eyes; there was little of him I valued then. I told myself once that if I’d ever the chance, I’d deconstruct his little persona before his eyes, to make him see. I’d shame him in front of everybody, trump him in one fell swoop and crush his spirits forever. And then, he’d be sorry.
One day, I saw him at a night club, and he was gone. I went up to him, and he noticed nothing when we met. Easily enough, we got back to his place, him as fervent as a dog in heat. As he opened the door, I felt my pulse racing. He looked at me eagerly, and a bead of sweat went down my forehead. We walked inside, and we had a drink of red wine. At this, I relaxed, and waited … it would only be a matter of time, and he would be mine. I admit it: I enjoy the screaming more than anything else. Once he realized what, and who, and how, he began to panic and scrounged and squirmed incessantly. I could not take all the bouncing very long, for I was getting a headache from the obscene noises. Finally, I snapped, and so did he. It was a bit rough, I suppose, but it made everything a lot simpler. And I learned that the best wine should only be drunk at room temperature.
I was just a little boy. I wanted to melt popsicles and lick the syrup out of a bowl, kneeling like a dog, but Mother wouldn’t let me. She said it was ridiculous, and that she wouldn’t buy me popsicles anymore. I always bothered her whenever she spoke with her friends and played cards. Once I woke up and had a bad dream, so I started downstairs, but I heard another voice – not my dad’s – and I grew afraid. The darkness grew so oppressive I started to cry silently.
I really wanted some, that night – just a drop would spare me. But I couldn’t – I had promised myself. And I knew I couldn’t, for the smell would give me away. And matters were most circumspect then. I could not afford to lose momentum, and given my past behavior, I could not even trust myself. It is bizarre, how despite all the conscious mind’s concentrated will to avoid moral treachery, the dark nagging, eternally present, pestilent voice always convinces you – at least some of the time.
Life was looking much too rosy at this point. The simplicity of it all was of such a staggering severity; sharp, exact and all-encompassing. There was an underlying flaw, and the train was speeding… And there was no way out. No way to stop the train from crashing, the only way to stop is to die, and the only way to grow is to suffer.
Have you ever had a complete lack of control over your own body? It is like watching a story unfold in front of your eyes, of which you are the central character, and you have no say in what happens. I’ve seen my self do things I would never do; listened to the sickening whispered conversations it has with itself. They don’t want me to hear anything or know anything. They would have me believe this is for my own good, my own survival. But I don’t need anything to live … if you can call this living.
Why, why can’t they go away? They do not even bother whispering anymore, they don’t take any notice of me. Nobody even knows I exist. Though there are moments of clarity, when they sleep. I think I can get away. I think I can still save myself. I must be quick and silent.
Of time and place, I know nothing. I am restless; I have not slept in days – they have locked themselves up in a corner, and they will not tell me their plans. But we sail the same ship, and they cannot escape me forever.
I am restless; I have not drank in weeks or even months. I burst in the corner shop and raid their stores. I feast. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad. I want more. I want to suck every last drop. He walked into the store. If you saw his eyes, they’d be bloodshot. He grabbed the girl behind the counter and slit her throat with his fingernail, then kissed her neck as her life drained and faded away.
It’s funny how things change. I could never have imagined this life. I was above it and refused to listen to anyone who would tell me otherwise. Now I rock back and forth, back and forth. I don’t know where I got the strength to get so close, and how I lack the last bit of resolve to do the only thing worth doing. I am so close, just a few more minutes ‘til it’s all over. In these last moments, I realize courage comes not when you do something courageous with full knowledge of the path and where it leads. Courage is the will to change your path because it is what you believe is right, having no idea where it leads.
Either the wallpaper goes, or I do.