Aiculík
08-13-2007, 11:14 AM
Fat drops of rain were hammering the window, leaving bright, pure traces on its grey dirt.
“Jacob?”
The window was dirty. The house was dirty. Everything he saw, everything he touched was dirty. His whole life, his very soul –
“Jacob! You there?”
– was dirty. He felt the sudden urge to open the window and stand on the roof, run out, to rip off his cloth, to let the rain hammer on him, leaving the bright, pure traces, until he was quite clean –
“Jacob, if you’re in the attic again... just wait till Dad finds out!”
– but of course he didn’t do it. What would neighbours say if they saw him standing on the roof, naked, under stormy sky? So instead, he sighed quietly and got up. He was covered in dust. He tried to wipe it off, but it was useless. Unwillingly he opened the door and carefully placed his leg on the ladder. The iron hissed spitefully under his foot. How he hated the stupid ladder.
“Mum? I’m here so what did you –”
“Jesus Christ! What were you doing, boy? Wait – is that – is that the new T-shirt Dad bought you yesterday? Are you really mad, Jacob? Are you?”
“No, Mum.”
“Oh yes you are! Mad! Idiotic! Freak!”
“Mum...”
“Don’t begin with that “Mum” now, Jacob. You know it’ll piss him off. But I guess that’s what our young rebellious hero wanted, isn’t it? Really brave Jacob! Heroic!”
She broke up and turned her head away.
“Get away.”
“Mum, I’m sorry...”
“No you’re not. It wasn’t the first time and I bet it wasn’t the last time, either. What are you doing up there, anyway? Masturbating?”
“Mum!”
“’Cause you can do that in your bed, Jacob, I wouldn’t mind, you know –”
“Mum...! Stop it! You’re... you’re... ”
But he didn’t finish. He turned on his heel and run out of the room and out of the hall and out of the house. Stupid house. Stupid T-shirt. He doesn’t care about his stupid T-shirt. He doesn’t need it, he doesn’t want it, he refuses to wear it! He stopped and pulled the thing off and tore it to pieces, his face red and screwed in an ugly grimace, enjoying the ripping sound. It was so satisfactory to throw the stupid thing – or rather, those few rags that it became – in the mud, and jump on it, again and again and again... And amid that madness, a quiet, calm voice in his brain said that it was funny funny really funny and how would it look like if he could see himself in the mirror now. He imagined himself, spluttering white bubbles of saliva, and emitting little red sparks of rage, covered in the mud... and it felt so good, oh sooo gooood... and he jumped and jumped and jumped...
Breathing hard, he stopped and looked down and the muddy something that just few hours ago was his brand new T-shirt from his father. It felt as if someone shoved a kilo of ice cubes down his neck within few seconds.
Mum was right. He is insane. Freak. Dirty. Disgustedly he looked down at himself. He was so dirty that maybe it was him lying in the mud and someone was jumping on him... Imagine that. Now, how would that feel like? How deep is the mud? Would he sink in the mud deeper and deeper until he reached the other end of the earth and then finally drop out and fell into the depths of cosmos? He’d be floating around, forever, covered in mud... Maybe it would be fun, said quiet calm voice mockingly.
Don’t, he thought. Don’t begin with thoughts like that. Not now. Now there’s a job to do. And he’d better be quick. If his mother called him down, it meant that he was coming. He might be here any minute now.
It didn’t help. It never did. Of course. The first thing the old slime asked about was the stupid T-shirt. A dinner, you know. So mum dressed up some dress, and she looked really sexy in it, what does she think she’s doing? So he put on his worst jeans and shabbiest T-shirt he found. And the bastard put on that slimy smile like he always did when Mum was there and told him to go and change and to put on, for example, the new T-shirt he gave him yesterday? And there it was.
Mum froze, he could sense it. He tried to mutter some excuse, but the old guy knew. Of course he knew.
“Been playing in the attic again, Jacob?”
Isn’t it funny that in the comics characters always gulp in situations like this, when his mouth and throat and whole soul seemed to be so drained that it seem impossible to gulp, not just now, but never again?
“Do you have any idea how expensive that T-shirt was, Jacob?”
He never noticed before there’s a spot in the right corner of the wall that looks like moon sickle? There, see, just below that tiny fly. He wished he was fly, than he could just (but that's pathetic, Jay, my dear, said quiet calm voice, it's pathetic and you know it so why don't you just–
“Leave us alone, honey. I think we need to talk together as two men, you know.”
He felt her hesitating look but he kept looking at the spot, as if it was going to crack any minute now, causing whole wall collapse and then all house and they’d be all dead, dead under the rubble...
“Please, honey.”
She left.
It was raining, as if it was mid-November and not the supposedly hottest month of the year. He opened the window the window and crawled on the roof. He couldn’t see any lights anywhere; it must be really late. What a relief. No stupid neighbours to hide from. Not a living soul that’d care about him. He pulled of his pyjama and lay down, watching the dark and suddenly he felt peace. Even that quiet calm someone in his head was in peace. Peace and quietness falling from the heaven. It was the most beautiful feeling in his life...
Hours passed. Or so he thought. And he felt... new. Reborn. Purified at last. And strong. Very strong, almost invincible. Yes. It gave him an idea. A brilliant idea. Mum’d say it was mad, but she didn’t know... anything. Suddenly determined, he got up, and slowly, step by step, came to the brim of the roof. He closed his eyes. He spread his hands. And then...
“Jacob? Are you up there again?”
Cold wet stairs. As if it was raining inside whole night. As if...
“Jacob, if you don’t come down this moment, I’ll...!”
Iron ladder hissed hatefully.
“Jacob? Jac – ”
Brief moment of pure terror – what if... no – no – NO...
Hesitatingly she approached the brim of the room... and unwillingly looked down.
But he wasn’t there.
He was nowhere. They were searching for him everywhere. Whole country did, in fact. Unsucssesfully.
He was gone.
“Jacob?”
The window was dirty. The house was dirty. Everything he saw, everything he touched was dirty. His whole life, his very soul –
“Jacob! You there?”
– was dirty. He felt the sudden urge to open the window and stand on the roof, run out, to rip off his cloth, to let the rain hammer on him, leaving the bright, pure traces, until he was quite clean –
“Jacob, if you’re in the attic again... just wait till Dad finds out!”
– but of course he didn’t do it. What would neighbours say if they saw him standing on the roof, naked, under stormy sky? So instead, he sighed quietly and got up. He was covered in dust. He tried to wipe it off, but it was useless. Unwillingly he opened the door and carefully placed his leg on the ladder. The iron hissed spitefully under his foot. How he hated the stupid ladder.
“Mum? I’m here so what did you –”
“Jesus Christ! What were you doing, boy? Wait – is that – is that the new T-shirt Dad bought you yesterday? Are you really mad, Jacob? Are you?”
“No, Mum.”
“Oh yes you are! Mad! Idiotic! Freak!”
“Mum...”
“Don’t begin with that “Mum” now, Jacob. You know it’ll piss him off. But I guess that’s what our young rebellious hero wanted, isn’t it? Really brave Jacob! Heroic!”
She broke up and turned her head away.
“Get away.”
“Mum, I’m sorry...”
“No you’re not. It wasn’t the first time and I bet it wasn’t the last time, either. What are you doing up there, anyway? Masturbating?”
“Mum!”
“’Cause you can do that in your bed, Jacob, I wouldn’t mind, you know –”
“Mum...! Stop it! You’re... you’re... ”
But he didn’t finish. He turned on his heel and run out of the room and out of the hall and out of the house. Stupid house. Stupid T-shirt. He doesn’t care about his stupid T-shirt. He doesn’t need it, he doesn’t want it, he refuses to wear it! He stopped and pulled the thing off and tore it to pieces, his face red and screwed in an ugly grimace, enjoying the ripping sound. It was so satisfactory to throw the stupid thing – or rather, those few rags that it became – in the mud, and jump on it, again and again and again... And amid that madness, a quiet, calm voice in his brain said that it was funny funny really funny and how would it look like if he could see himself in the mirror now. He imagined himself, spluttering white bubbles of saliva, and emitting little red sparks of rage, covered in the mud... and it felt so good, oh sooo gooood... and he jumped and jumped and jumped...
Breathing hard, he stopped and looked down and the muddy something that just few hours ago was his brand new T-shirt from his father. It felt as if someone shoved a kilo of ice cubes down his neck within few seconds.
Mum was right. He is insane. Freak. Dirty. Disgustedly he looked down at himself. He was so dirty that maybe it was him lying in the mud and someone was jumping on him... Imagine that. Now, how would that feel like? How deep is the mud? Would he sink in the mud deeper and deeper until he reached the other end of the earth and then finally drop out and fell into the depths of cosmos? He’d be floating around, forever, covered in mud... Maybe it would be fun, said quiet calm voice mockingly.
Don’t, he thought. Don’t begin with thoughts like that. Not now. Now there’s a job to do. And he’d better be quick. If his mother called him down, it meant that he was coming. He might be here any minute now.
It didn’t help. It never did. Of course. The first thing the old slime asked about was the stupid T-shirt. A dinner, you know. So mum dressed up some dress, and she looked really sexy in it, what does she think she’s doing? So he put on his worst jeans and shabbiest T-shirt he found. And the bastard put on that slimy smile like he always did when Mum was there and told him to go and change and to put on, for example, the new T-shirt he gave him yesterday? And there it was.
Mum froze, he could sense it. He tried to mutter some excuse, but the old guy knew. Of course he knew.
“Been playing in the attic again, Jacob?”
Isn’t it funny that in the comics characters always gulp in situations like this, when his mouth and throat and whole soul seemed to be so drained that it seem impossible to gulp, not just now, but never again?
“Do you have any idea how expensive that T-shirt was, Jacob?”
He never noticed before there’s a spot in the right corner of the wall that looks like moon sickle? There, see, just below that tiny fly. He wished he was fly, than he could just (but that's pathetic, Jay, my dear, said quiet calm voice, it's pathetic and you know it so why don't you just–
“Leave us alone, honey. I think we need to talk together as two men, you know.”
He felt her hesitating look but he kept looking at the spot, as if it was going to crack any minute now, causing whole wall collapse and then all house and they’d be all dead, dead under the rubble...
“Please, honey.”
She left.
It was raining, as if it was mid-November and not the supposedly hottest month of the year. He opened the window the window and crawled on the roof. He couldn’t see any lights anywhere; it must be really late. What a relief. No stupid neighbours to hide from. Not a living soul that’d care about him. He pulled of his pyjama and lay down, watching the dark and suddenly he felt peace. Even that quiet calm someone in his head was in peace. Peace and quietness falling from the heaven. It was the most beautiful feeling in his life...
Hours passed. Or so he thought. And he felt... new. Reborn. Purified at last. And strong. Very strong, almost invincible. Yes. It gave him an idea. A brilliant idea. Mum’d say it was mad, but she didn’t know... anything. Suddenly determined, he got up, and slowly, step by step, came to the brim of the roof. He closed his eyes. He spread his hands. And then...
“Jacob? Are you up there again?”
Cold wet stairs. As if it was raining inside whole night. As if...
“Jacob, if you don’t come down this moment, I’ll...!”
Iron ladder hissed hatefully.
“Jacob? Jac – ”
Brief moment of pure terror – what if... no – no – NO...
Hesitatingly she approached the brim of the room... and unwillingly looked down.
But he wasn’t there.
He was nowhere. They were searching for him everywhere. Whole country did, in fact. Unsucssesfully.
He was gone.