PrimordialBeast
06-06-2010, 01:51 PM
So this is my first shot at a short story. I wrote it rather quickly, so I wasn't able to write as eloquently as I wanted, for it was an assignment (but I'd like to continue on with it) and I intend on going back and re-writing a bit, so please excuse some of the hurried poor writing, although I love criticism and give whatever feedback you'd like for future reference.
It may be a tad lengthy, but this is only the first chapter. So here is part one...
Back straight, neck hung tensely forward at an awkward angle, beer in right hand, left lay drifting at his side, he sat. He slowly took in the room, meticulously taking in every detail of it. He sat on a worn out and fading green two-seated sofa that's seen many visitors and has had it’s own battles with mankind and pets and all the simplicity of an averagely boring and sad suburban home. A few feet in front of him sat an oversized dusty television on a cheap black wooden stand. An old polished coffee table lay between, ridden with magazines, superfluous remotes to God knows what, three ashtrays completely full of butts, ashes from the cigarettes scattered and smudged over the tabletop, a score of empty beer bottles, and a few DVDs lay facing upside down. There stood a floor lamp to each side of the couch giving an ambiance to his position in the middle of the sofa. A ceiling fan hung directly over the middle of the room, rotating, mixing the foul air that was forty plus sweaty people, half of whom had lit cigarettes in their mouths and between their fingers, mixed with the musty smell of spilled beer soaked in the carpet and scattered dirty laundry permeated and choked the entire bottom floor of the already compact row home. The carpet was old and dingy, many spots from the past scattered about the room of all shapes, sizes and colors. Spots from that night were certain to be born. The walls stood white, nothing hung from them, random smudges of dirt and oil from hands and other various body parts that could grace the wall seemed to make up for the lack of decoration. He took his attention away from his surroundings and began fixating himself in his mind. His name is Eli. Eli was concentrated. He was concentrated on his own weariness and dissipated life and aspirations.
If Eli was sad, he was focused; nothing else mattered. He narrowed down from the beginning of the day what had happened, than would drift in and out of past experiences and relationships that have long ended but would randomly catch in the net that was his consciousness. Eli is what doctors today would call a manic depressive. Bi-polar, paranoid, delusional, borderline personality type; but, for the sake of the story we‘ll leave out the psychoanalysis for now. He knew this, he was always aware of his “defects”, but always fought it, always amusing himself that it was a battle of his soul against his will. A battle begun long ago that’s continually been brought to stalemate. Many times forgetting why he's fighting with himself to begin with, but, there is still a war to be won.
Jake approached him from a doorway with no door that lead to a kitchen full of people Eli knew and half-knew. Jake stopped just short of him, crouched down and squinted his eyes to better focus in on his friend. He was holding a freshly opened can of beer which to his misfortune tilted with him as he crouched lower and began to spill a narrow stream into a shallow puddle in the carpet. Eli didn’t realize Jake was standing less than three feet away from him, not until he said something, he just kept staring forward.
"Awww, damn it... Hey, are you alright?"
Eli kept his concentrated stare ahead of him.
"Yeah... I'm fine. You don't seem alright, you're spilling that beer all over the place."
"Ha, well..." Jake shrugged his shoulders, pinched his lips together and made a dumbfounded face which was typical for him and always meant, 'Eh, **** it.'
"Seriously man, are you alright? You've been sitting on that damn couch by yourself since we got here, and that was... I don't know, over an hour ago. It's not even ten thirty and already you look like you're done for the night, what are you, wasted already?"
Eli twisted his head and looked his friend straight in the eyes. Jake noticed they were big and glazed, a certain glaze of hopelessness and boredom. He knew something was wrong from this short eye contact.
Jake paused awkwardly for a moment without getting a response.
"... You wanna leave? I'm not too drunk. ****, we can just walk to my house from here if you want to crash. I just got this old Tarintino produced flick I found at Record Bin, figured we could put it on, pass out, watch the rest in the morning. Sound good?"
"It's alright, I.. I'm just... going to sit here for a while. Is that cool?"
"Yeah dude, you just seem upset, but, I'll leave you alone. Hey if you wanna stop being a loner come join us and quit being a boring *******, ha!" Jake raised his beer to his mouth, chugged what little was left, crushed the can and tossed it onto the coffee table knocking over a couple of empty beer bottles, one of the bottles half full of beer and butts spilled onto the table and floor, Jake cackled and exited into the kitchen.
Eli knew what he meant when Jake called him a boring *******, because Jake himself was an *******; but Jake was also his friend that cared, at least enough to ask what was wrong if you seemed down and out. Almost everything Jake said Eli completely ignored, or took with a grain of salt, unless it was about music, because that's the only knowledge that Jake was concerned and firm on obtaining, and, with an air of oblivious pretentiousness, would graciously share that knowledge with anyone who would so happen to mention certain bands and record labels; usually obscure facts that most avid listeners of music or fans of certain scenes that are going on and around the area would have no idea about, and then give his own opinion on them and then proceed to walk away feeling proud he could school someone on irrelevant facts that left everyone else in the dark; that and movies. The core of his justifiable existence: music and movies. Jake had the continual urge to be funny especially at the last minute if anyone in his range were to exit the general conversation. No matter how serious the matter could be, he'd always end it with an immature and unfunny line. It was a self conscious tick, for sure, but Jake never felt that way, he was young and didn't care about anything. Who would have guessed in today’s world someone like that exists?
Eli kept himself in the same position. Focused. Determined. On what? He didn't know, but he'd find out eventually in some construed form. If not, he'd sleep it off and forget about it in the morning. In all, Eli was never bored with himself, and for all the wrong reasons.
"HEY, PUT ON GASLIGHT ANTHEM!" he could hear Jake yell from the room over, his shout was immediately drowned out by muffled music and the glutted kitchen of loud drunk eighteen to twenty something year olds, mostly guys arguing about music, record labels, and the irrelevance of genres. Typical egotistical behavior found in young men that believe they are justified in being labeled intellectual because of their own cynical opinion they stand firm to, even if be the most nonsensical topic of discussion, when in essence they are as one-minded and ignorant as those they argue against. Bliss, oh sweet bliss.
There were a few girls amongst the many guys, about one to every four guys, all of whom were dating someone in that room or around the house. The only babble that ever seemed to come out of their mouths were topics of extreme vexation for Eli, always leaving him tense and on edge: gossip, fashion, more gossip, money, complaints, past gossip stories, their hair, and more gossip; usually surrounding other girls whom they pretend to be friends with but will immediately slander once they left the room. Girls didn't bother Eli, just those girls, he never understood the pettiness and ignorance of close to every female he had ever overheard or struck a conversation with, at least most girls in the realms of school and parties. He never understood why he surrounded himself around members of the opposite sex that acted like that, probably because his friends were shallow and unrealistic, and his friends were around those girls often, and Eli was around his friends often, and of course, his friends liked those girl because they 'put out' and Eli himself was never intimidated or timid towards girls that would get him laid; and for that reason he always put himself amongst the ranks of his friends: shallow, superficial, low self esteem. He could never stand living such a life: a liar, to say the least; but it was easy, easy to deceive the weaker minded girls to satisfy his lust. He despised lusting after them like he did, he felt impure, selfish, tempted, weak willed. But desire would always reign and Eli would never pass a chance to get a girl of the same shallow standards in bed (or wherever it may be) with him.
On the other hand he always had an unrealistic yearning of a smart, soft spoken, humble girl; to talk to, to date, to simply be friends with, have intelligent conversations with. Why unrealistic? Because growing up where he did, every girl was the same: plain and pathetic. At times he would meet girls out in public usually far from home, in the city, at a show, a friends house, sometimes online, many of whom were truly interesting to him, the girls he did talk to or a girl of that nature he took out on dates would cause him to momentarily panic, he’d make a fool of himself in some benign way, but most of all Eli never felt worthy of being in a girl of that nature’s presence. He would feel ashamed, as if by presenting himself around his ideal dream girl he believed he may be spoiling holy grounds. One reason being because of his lustful past with so many loose young women, another reason being that he was self defeating personality, he contemplated that strong willed young women are more attracted and trustworthy of strong willed men, and that must be true. If he couldn't trust himself, why should anyone else?
One solid illusion he never trusted was his appearance. Eli was exceedingly vain, and most of the time remained completely in denial of his vanity. Most days he thought he didn’t care what he looked like, although he would stand in front of the mirror constantly picking himself apart and would settle on one outfit he thought he looked good in; not just good looking, but simple, simple and at the same time he wanted to stand out (but not for others, he simply liked looking and feeling worthy of himself), so he would often wear the same outfit day after day, sometimes slightly changing something minute like rolling up his pant legs an inch or two without socks on, Eli never wore socks. He was always struggling to not look like everyone else, but eventually he did and would get so overly frustrated about it, would spend days upon days not leaving his house or going out in public just so he wouldn’t have to deal with people looking at him. This being another reason he so loathed himself.
So he would run away, figuratively, and give up on the girl. He could never figure out why he did that to himself (run away), but he also thought one day he'd feel worthy enough of the privilege of an intellectual and humble girl to grace him with her glory and would ultimately change his life for the better and mold him into the man he wanted to be, likewise while helping himself. Eli always loved the idea of a nudge of inspiration from a lovely significant other. But at that time Eli was still young and didn't want to waste anyone’s time with his deprecating behavior towards himself. He knew he was pathetic, a complete mess of emotions and frivolous ideas and desires, and to keep those he respected and admired out of that mess was necessary to him. Especially those of the opposite sex.
There were still dreams though, of the perfect relationship, and dream he did plenty of, too much some might say. He never liked reality or living in it (the real world), so he would spend most of his time in his head believing he had no problems, having conversations he wish existed between himself and his friends, the perfect girl, the ultimate hedonistic pleasures of the world, having fun and plenty of it, etc. When often he would overwhelm his thoughts with grandeur he would quickly enter back into reality and sink back into the hole that was depression and self pity. Constantly questioning the world and all it's mysteries, Eli wanted knowledge and to Eli there could never be enough knowledge or wisdom to be had. Because of all his questioning he was constantly left unanswered and felt hopeless in his search for some truth… if it exists. He hated the idea of nihilism and the thought that everything and everyone could be a complete sham, a waste of time and energy in perfect whole, so he would pray to his God or some creator or higher being, which he firmly believed in, that one day all his questions and hopes would be answered, he felt selfish for asking, but felt equally necessary. He hated the constant contradictions in his life, in life in general. Fake. Everything to him seemed fake and absurd: people, consciousness, nature, it all has to be a joke; but he knew everything that exists is composed of energy, most notably consciousness. Energy is everlasting, energy cannot be destroyed. Therefore energy is the only ‘real’ thing in the universe and that would conclude that everything he knew was and is real even the false thoughts are a “real manifestation“; most objects and creations are fabricated and superficial, he would guess that, even in the natural world everything has a creator, therefore the universe must have a creator, consciousness and existence must have been the planned idea of a creator, a creator composed of some form of energy that can make more energy and expel it over a vast never ending universe. This made some sense to him, but he knew he was no expert in any realm of idealism and philosophy, so by the end of the day his head would still hurt, his mind would drift in and out of epiphanies and revelations only then to revert back into more contradicting questions. "Goddamn, I truly am a mess of a man." This was but a taste of what went through Eli's mind on a daily, hourly basis; cynical rogue thoughts he was never able to control.
Eli stood up, took his last swig and placed the bottle neatly next to the others on the table. He wanted to look over to see if anyone noticed him or was in the room he was in at all, but those vain attempts at unsuccessfully drawing anyone towards him with his pitiful lonely composure were long gone, those attempts at sad conversations and sympathy never happened anymore. He grabbed another beer from his backpack at his feet and walked out the front door.
It was an unusually cold night, especially for a mid-September night in Maryland. He was wearing slip on shoes (without socks), cut-off khaki shorts above his skinny knees, a cheap white t shirt with an unbuttoned green flannel over it and a beanie, which he always wore, no matter what season for whatever compulsive neurotic reason. He took a swig from his beer, pulled the pack of cigarettes from the chest pocket on his flannel, fingered out a cigarette, lit it and inhaled, keeping the smoke lingering in his lungs longer than any average smoker would, then exhaled, long and hard. The nicotine made him easy, then he started “thinking” again. Now he was distraught, he took another drag and at the exhale lowered and shook his head at his own confused self, letting some of the smoke float back up into his face. Self consciously he patted his forehead with his palm, lifted his head and took another drag.
"Ugghhh, what the hell am I doing here? What the hell am I doing at all? Why? Why all these self defeating thoughts? …It‘s always like this. God, God, ugghh" he mumbled to himself. He kept his beer and his cigarette in the same hand and breathed in the night air as hard as he could before slowly exhaling, eyes closed, he tilted his head up slowly towards the heavens above. And for a moment, all was clear.
He glanced at the light fixture hanging above the right side of the front door, the light was being pummeled to and fro by all sorts of flying insects: moths, beetles, even one of those oversized looking mosquitoes. A large spider web hung between the prominent light fixture and the outside wall of the house, an eerie, evil looking, fat spider sat perched directly in the middle of it. Staring at the spider a harsh chill ran down his spine; he hated spiders, no matter the shape or size, if he had a chance to rid the world of one more spider he would do it, but this night he took one last glance at it and continued staring ahead. He looked out into the street, on all sides. Town houses and row homes were across the street, next door, everywhere, a plague of repetitive cheap architecture built for only people with the most average needs for shelter and little to no privacy. Most of the street lamps were out, but a few random houses had their front lights on. On either side, the street and the row of homes seemed to be never ending. Every parking space was taken, for there was only parking in the street up against the curb, no one had garages here, no one had a driveway. Everyone shared the same street.
He stood there, swigging his beer, puffing on his cigarette.
Absent mindedness. This was his absolute. Not a thing on his mind except for the inebriated sensation that tingled all the way through to his fingertips. He didn't think about the party that was going on, he didn't think about himself or his problems. He was just there. A soul stuck in an existential limbo, at that point in time, that place in space. He was infinite. Well, for the time being. That's all there is; time being.
He sensed a slight tingle of stomach acid working it's way up his esophagus and immediately snapped out of his reverie, which to his satisfaction was preceded with a short low belch. He let a short giggle, “Heh heh.” He held the bottle up to the light. There was half a beer left. He put the open bottle to his bottom lip and emptied it into his stomach in a matter of a second or two. The cool carbonated lager washed down the back of his throat, he felt refreshed, a sudden spark permeated through his nervous system which made his spine shiver and electrocute the rest of his body into a delightful convulsion. He threw the bottle into the patch of grass which is what some would call a front yard and started walking towards the street down the cement path from the doorway. He didn't know what he was doing, God didn't even know what he was doing. Eli let his body take control over itself and went with it. He walked a little over a quarter of a mile swinging his arms back and forth and even stopped to light up another cigarette, he took one drag and gagged. His face pinched together in a manner that said ’never again’ and he flicked the cigarette into the gutter, he took the pack of cigarettes from his flannel pocket and threw them into the gutter as well. For a strange reason, this made sense to him. He made it to the end of the dead-end street covered in darkness; no houses, no lights, no people, nothing except for a guardrail that stretched from one side of the street to the other and stopped the street before it turned into a thick patch of woods. His eyes were already adjusting to the darkness when he penetrated the end. He could make out the silhouettes of the individual trees which started the edge of the woods. The ground was thick, covered in leaves, and all sorts of shallow foliage, trash that had washed down the road to that very end for decades now. He didn't think, didn't question why or know why, he simply walked straight into the wall of darkness. No fear came over Eli; when he was drunk, death, pain, this meant nothing to him, just another imminent occurrence in an imminent world of pain and passing on.
Five minutes passed and Eli was still walking at a steady pace cutting straight through the woods in a bee-line. His eyes had begun to focus in the darkness. His legs were constant victims to tiny pricks and scratches from thorn bushes and random natural debris. None of this inflicted with his concentration on what was straight ahead. Five minutes turned into thirty and he was still walking. What was driving him, he didn't know, he just kept walking, increasing his pace little by little after a few minutes here and there. His cell phone in his left back pocket started to vibrate. He always kept his phone on vibrate, he hated ring tones, the sound of ringing phones made him cringe. At first he ignored it until it stopped. A minute and a half passed by and it started buzzing again. He ignored it until it stopped again. A few more seconds later it started buzzing once more. He pulled the phone from his back pocket and refused to observe who was calling him.
A question ran through his mind at the next moment.
“What are you?”
“I am…?” he answered.
He opened the back of the phone and removed the battery, he threw it as hard as he could, he pitched his phone the same way, while still maintaining a steady pace into the unknown. Suddenly he started running, in fact, he was sprinting. He took long hurdles with each stride of his legs, unaware of where each step would land him, he kept going on. "I am…" kept passing through his mind. "I am..."
His muscles were beginning to swell, burn. His recent sedentary life in his room had started to take a toll on him. He started perspiring from his forehead and under his arms, sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes, he enjoyed these pleasant discomforts, he welcomed them.
A low branch jutting out from a thin tree snagged onto his open flannel which in turn jerked him back to the right almost making him run in an half circular arch. He thrust himself back left releasing his right arm from it’s sleeve and gracefully slid out of the other has he kept running forward. Goodbye my favorite flannel, you are nothing to me anymore. His body never felt as good as it did just then in his entire twenty years of existence, it was alive, finally; it was burning with a fire from deep within his body, an incredible rush of energy, as if his blood were electrical currents and his body were a machine working to its utmost potential to keep it going to keep it alive, it was pleasurable. He opened his mouth and his thin lips stretched from ear to ear, a grin he himself never thought was capable of. If there were any other people about these woods they would most certainly make him out to be insane, a madman got loose from the nearest asylum, on the run and wreaking unheard of terrors no one would dare speak of, would dread of experiencing first hand themselves. But there were no other souls in those woods just then, only Eli. Running as fast he could, smiling brighter than the sun. He became covered in scratches and pricks of all shapes and sizes, some oozing a little bit of blood, some immediately dried to a coagulated crust in thin slices barely deep enough to penetrate the flesh, rushed to the surface. Even if any wound was deep it didn't matter, his blood was too busy rushing through his muscles, keeping them functioning and working hard without failing him. In a moment everything seemed vibrant. The canopy illuminated by the moon seemed to breathe, every sound was crystal clear, every smell was smelled, everything was glorious and alive. He was more than himself. He felt lighter, as if at any moment he could suddenly lift off the ground and soar forward to his unknown destination, he continued on for more than an hour.
He stopped.
Something was wrong. He bent over keeping his legs straight, held his abdomen and vomited in front of himself, long and strenuously heaving and gagging until his stomach was empty. He remained in the same position, hunched over, mouth wide open, a long thick strand of saliva and bile hung from his mouth making its way to the forest floor, he dry heaved once more to clear his throat and spit the strand to the ground, his eyes bulging from forcing all he could from the bottom of his stomach. He coughed to relieve the sensual pain of vomiting which took hold of his diaphragm and shook his head as he always does in a sense of relief. He gave a short self conscious laugh at himself. He looked up from the ground and stared forward again. It was dark; the trees liveliness had died, everything was back to the way it was before: dark, quiet, lonely. For a moment he was afraid, but he didn't think, nothing crossed his mind, no feelings on the matter at hand, no resolution to come across, blank was his mind, just a short sensation of fear, ambivalence. Eli was in his absolute state just then, infinite, he was free and he didn't know it. Free from his own mind. The fear vanished, as quick as it surged into his primal brain. Primitive, that's what he was at that moment. No more calculating the odds and ends to situations, instinct was in full force and is what he was going to have to rely on to make it to his unknown destination. Sadness, depression, guilt, self loathing, hate, all of these things had no more room to vacate his conscious. Eli was alive for the first time; the past, the future, all the irrelevance of life did not worry him now, it was the ever occurring present that made him this way, the subconscious understanding of living in the present at all times. Ultimate reality.
He breathed in the night air and exhaled slowly. He raised his arms and stretched them out and back until he grabbed hold of his hands behind his back, he pulled up and away hands together and arched back and forth with his upper body, it felt good to stretch these muscles. He bent forward and placed his hands to his knees. He spit a wad of phlegm to the ground, became erect and began walking again. This time his eyes weren’t focused straight ahead but wandered all around, almost confused. He was struck with awe then, simplicity had never made so much sense until then. He didn't want those constant moments of clarity to vanish. Quickly he thought, it finally occurred to him, this is home. Societies, civilizations, governments, relationships, careers, money, it's all an illusion, it's all wrong, it‘s all… shameful. He understood his destination now, he understood why he escaped into the woods. "I am." flashed through his mind again.
It may be a tad lengthy, but this is only the first chapter. So here is part one...
Back straight, neck hung tensely forward at an awkward angle, beer in right hand, left lay drifting at his side, he sat. He slowly took in the room, meticulously taking in every detail of it. He sat on a worn out and fading green two-seated sofa that's seen many visitors and has had it’s own battles with mankind and pets and all the simplicity of an averagely boring and sad suburban home. A few feet in front of him sat an oversized dusty television on a cheap black wooden stand. An old polished coffee table lay between, ridden with magazines, superfluous remotes to God knows what, three ashtrays completely full of butts, ashes from the cigarettes scattered and smudged over the tabletop, a score of empty beer bottles, and a few DVDs lay facing upside down. There stood a floor lamp to each side of the couch giving an ambiance to his position in the middle of the sofa. A ceiling fan hung directly over the middle of the room, rotating, mixing the foul air that was forty plus sweaty people, half of whom had lit cigarettes in their mouths and between their fingers, mixed with the musty smell of spilled beer soaked in the carpet and scattered dirty laundry permeated and choked the entire bottom floor of the already compact row home. The carpet was old and dingy, many spots from the past scattered about the room of all shapes, sizes and colors. Spots from that night were certain to be born. The walls stood white, nothing hung from them, random smudges of dirt and oil from hands and other various body parts that could grace the wall seemed to make up for the lack of decoration. He took his attention away from his surroundings and began fixating himself in his mind. His name is Eli. Eli was concentrated. He was concentrated on his own weariness and dissipated life and aspirations.
If Eli was sad, he was focused; nothing else mattered. He narrowed down from the beginning of the day what had happened, than would drift in and out of past experiences and relationships that have long ended but would randomly catch in the net that was his consciousness. Eli is what doctors today would call a manic depressive. Bi-polar, paranoid, delusional, borderline personality type; but, for the sake of the story we‘ll leave out the psychoanalysis for now. He knew this, he was always aware of his “defects”, but always fought it, always amusing himself that it was a battle of his soul against his will. A battle begun long ago that’s continually been brought to stalemate. Many times forgetting why he's fighting with himself to begin with, but, there is still a war to be won.
Jake approached him from a doorway with no door that lead to a kitchen full of people Eli knew and half-knew. Jake stopped just short of him, crouched down and squinted his eyes to better focus in on his friend. He was holding a freshly opened can of beer which to his misfortune tilted with him as he crouched lower and began to spill a narrow stream into a shallow puddle in the carpet. Eli didn’t realize Jake was standing less than three feet away from him, not until he said something, he just kept staring forward.
"Awww, damn it... Hey, are you alright?"
Eli kept his concentrated stare ahead of him.
"Yeah... I'm fine. You don't seem alright, you're spilling that beer all over the place."
"Ha, well..." Jake shrugged his shoulders, pinched his lips together and made a dumbfounded face which was typical for him and always meant, 'Eh, **** it.'
"Seriously man, are you alright? You've been sitting on that damn couch by yourself since we got here, and that was... I don't know, over an hour ago. It's not even ten thirty and already you look like you're done for the night, what are you, wasted already?"
Eli twisted his head and looked his friend straight in the eyes. Jake noticed they were big and glazed, a certain glaze of hopelessness and boredom. He knew something was wrong from this short eye contact.
Jake paused awkwardly for a moment without getting a response.
"... You wanna leave? I'm not too drunk. ****, we can just walk to my house from here if you want to crash. I just got this old Tarintino produced flick I found at Record Bin, figured we could put it on, pass out, watch the rest in the morning. Sound good?"
"It's alright, I.. I'm just... going to sit here for a while. Is that cool?"
"Yeah dude, you just seem upset, but, I'll leave you alone. Hey if you wanna stop being a loner come join us and quit being a boring *******, ha!" Jake raised his beer to his mouth, chugged what little was left, crushed the can and tossed it onto the coffee table knocking over a couple of empty beer bottles, one of the bottles half full of beer and butts spilled onto the table and floor, Jake cackled and exited into the kitchen.
Eli knew what he meant when Jake called him a boring *******, because Jake himself was an *******; but Jake was also his friend that cared, at least enough to ask what was wrong if you seemed down and out. Almost everything Jake said Eli completely ignored, or took with a grain of salt, unless it was about music, because that's the only knowledge that Jake was concerned and firm on obtaining, and, with an air of oblivious pretentiousness, would graciously share that knowledge with anyone who would so happen to mention certain bands and record labels; usually obscure facts that most avid listeners of music or fans of certain scenes that are going on and around the area would have no idea about, and then give his own opinion on them and then proceed to walk away feeling proud he could school someone on irrelevant facts that left everyone else in the dark; that and movies. The core of his justifiable existence: music and movies. Jake had the continual urge to be funny especially at the last minute if anyone in his range were to exit the general conversation. No matter how serious the matter could be, he'd always end it with an immature and unfunny line. It was a self conscious tick, for sure, but Jake never felt that way, he was young and didn't care about anything. Who would have guessed in today’s world someone like that exists?
Eli kept himself in the same position. Focused. Determined. On what? He didn't know, but he'd find out eventually in some construed form. If not, he'd sleep it off and forget about it in the morning. In all, Eli was never bored with himself, and for all the wrong reasons.
"HEY, PUT ON GASLIGHT ANTHEM!" he could hear Jake yell from the room over, his shout was immediately drowned out by muffled music and the glutted kitchen of loud drunk eighteen to twenty something year olds, mostly guys arguing about music, record labels, and the irrelevance of genres. Typical egotistical behavior found in young men that believe they are justified in being labeled intellectual because of their own cynical opinion they stand firm to, even if be the most nonsensical topic of discussion, when in essence they are as one-minded and ignorant as those they argue against. Bliss, oh sweet bliss.
There were a few girls amongst the many guys, about one to every four guys, all of whom were dating someone in that room or around the house. The only babble that ever seemed to come out of their mouths were topics of extreme vexation for Eli, always leaving him tense and on edge: gossip, fashion, more gossip, money, complaints, past gossip stories, their hair, and more gossip; usually surrounding other girls whom they pretend to be friends with but will immediately slander once they left the room. Girls didn't bother Eli, just those girls, he never understood the pettiness and ignorance of close to every female he had ever overheard or struck a conversation with, at least most girls in the realms of school and parties. He never understood why he surrounded himself around members of the opposite sex that acted like that, probably because his friends were shallow and unrealistic, and his friends were around those girls often, and Eli was around his friends often, and of course, his friends liked those girl because they 'put out' and Eli himself was never intimidated or timid towards girls that would get him laid; and for that reason he always put himself amongst the ranks of his friends: shallow, superficial, low self esteem. He could never stand living such a life: a liar, to say the least; but it was easy, easy to deceive the weaker minded girls to satisfy his lust. He despised lusting after them like he did, he felt impure, selfish, tempted, weak willed. But desire would always reign and Eli would never pass a chance to get a girl of the same shallow standards in bed (or wherever it may be) with him.
On the other hand he always had an unrealistic yearning of a smart, soft spoken, humble girl; to talk to, to date, to simply be friends with, have intelligent conversations with. Why unrealistic? Because growing up where he did, every girl was the same: plain and pathetic. At times he would meet girls out in public usually far from home, in the city, at a show, a friends house, sometimes online, many of whom were truly interesting to him, the girls he did talk to or a girl of that nature he took out on dates would cause him to momentarily panic, he’d make a fool of himself in some benign way, but most of all Eli never felt worthy of being in a girl of that nature’s presence. He would feel ashamed, as if by presenting himself around his ideal dream girl he believed he may be spoiling holy grounds. One reason being because of his lustful past with so many loose young women, another reason being that he was self defeating personality, he contemplated that strong willed young women are more attracted and trustworthy of strong willed men, and that must be true. If he couldn't trust himself, why should anyone else?
One solid illusion he never trusted was his appearance. Eli was exceedingly vain, and most of the time remained completely in denial of his vanity. Most days he thought he didn’t care what he looked like, although he would stand in front of the mirror constantly picking himself apart and would settle on one outfit he thought he looked good in; not just good looking, but simple, simple and at the same time he wanted to stand out (but not for others, he simply liked looking and feeling worthy of himself), so he would often wear the same outfit day after day, sometimes slightly changing something minute like rolling up his pant legs an inch or two without socks on, Eli never wore socks. He was always struggling to not look like everyone else, but eventually he did and would get so overly frustrated about it, would spend days upon days not leaving his house or going out in public just so he wouldn’t have to deal with people looking at him. This being another reason he so loathed himself.
So he would run away, figuratively, and give up on the girl. He could never figure out why he did that to himself (run away), but he also thought one day he'd feel worthy enough of the privilege of an intellectual and humble girl to grace him with her glory and would ultimately change his life for the better and mold him into the man he wanted to be, likewise while helping himself. Eli always loved the idea of a nudge of inspiration from a lovely significant other. But at that time Eli was still young and didn't want to waste anyone’s time with his deprecating behavior towards himself. He knew he was pathetic, a complete mess of emotions and frivolous ideas and desires, and to keep those he respected and admired out of that mess was necessary to him. Especially those of the opposite sex.
There were still dreams though, of the perfect relationship, and dream he did plenty of, too much some might say. He never liked reality or living in it (the real world), so he would spend most of his time in his head believing he had no problems, having conversations he wish existed between himself and his friends, the perfect girl, the ultimate hedonistic pleasures of the world, having fun and plenty of it, etc. When often he would overwhelm his thoughts with grandeur he would quickly enter back into reality and sink back into the hole that was depression and self pity. Constantly questioning the world and all it's mysteries, Eli wanted knowledge and to Eli there could never be enough knowledge or wisdom to be had. Because of all his questioning he was constantly left unanswered and felt hopeless in his search for some truth… if it exists. He hated the idea of nihilism and the thought that everything and everyone could be a complete sham, a waste of time and energy in perfect whole, so he would pray to his God or some creator or higher being, which he firmly believed in, that one day all his questions and hopes would be answered, he felt selfish for asking, but felt equally necessary. He hated the constant contradictions in his life, in life in general. Fake. Everything to him seemed fake and absurd: people, consciousness, nature, it all has to be a joke; but he knew everything that exists is composed of energy, most notably consciousness. Energy is everlasting, energy cannot be destroyed. Therefore energy is the only ‘real’ thing in the universe and that would conclude that everything he knew was and is real even the false thoughts are a “real manifestation“; most objects and creations are fabricated and superficial, he would guess that, even in the natural world everything has a creator, therefore the universe must have a creator, consciousness and existence must have been the planned idea of a creator, a creator composed of some form of energy that can make more energy and expel it over a vast never ending universe. This made some sense to him, but he knew he was no expert in any realm of idealism and philosophy, so by the end of the day his head would still hurt, his mind would drift in and out of epiphanies and revelations only then to revert back into more contradicting questions. "Goddamn, I truly am a mess of a man." This was but a taste of what went through Eli's mind on a daily, hourly basis; cynical rogue thoughts he was never able to control.
Eli stood up, took his last swig and placed the bottle neatly next to the others on the table. He wanted to look over to see if anyone noticed him or was in the room he was in at all, but those vain attempts at unsuccessfully drawing anyone towards him with his pitiful lonely composure were long gone, those attempts at sad conversations and sympathy never happened anymore. He grabbed another beer from his backpack at his feet and walked out the front door.
It was an unusually cold night, especially for a mid-September night in Maryland. He was wearing slip on shoes (without socks), cut-off khaki shorts above his skinny knees, a cheap white t shirt with an unbuttoned green flannel over it and a beanie, which he always wore, no matter what season for whatever compulsive neurotic reason. He took a swig from his beer, pulled the pack of cigarettes from the chest pocket on his flannel, fingered out a cigarette, lit it and inhaled, keeping the smoke lingering in his lungs longer than any average smoker would, then exhaled, long and hard. The nicotine made him easy, then he started “thinking” again. Now he was distraught, he took another drag and at the exhale lowered and shook his head at his own confused self, letting some of the smoke float back up into his face. Self consciously he patted his forehead with his palm, lifted his head and took another drag.
"Ugghhh, what the hell am I doing here? What the hell am I doing at all? Why? Why all these self defeating thoughts? …It‘s always like this. God, God, ugghh" he mumbled to himself. He kept his beer and his cigarette in the same hand and breathed in the night air as hard as he could before slowly exhaling, eyes closed, he tilted his head up slowly towards the heavens above. And for a moment, all was clear.
He glanced at the light fixture hanging above the right side of the front door, the light was being pummeled to and fro by all sorts of flying insects: moths, beetles, even one of those oversized looking mosquitoes. A large spider web hung between the prominent light fixture and the outside wall of the house, an eerie, evil looking, fat spider sat perched directly in the middle of it. Staring at the spider a harsh chill ran down his spine; he hated spiders, no matter the shape or size, if he had a chance to rid the world of one more spider he would do it, but this night he took one last glance at it and continued staring ahead. He looked out into the street, on all sides. Town houses and row homes were across the street, next door, everywhere, a plague of repetitive cheap architecture built for only people with the most average needs for shelter and little to no privacy. Most of the street lamps were out, but a few random houses had their front lights on. On either side, the street and the row of homes seemed to be never ending. Every parking space was taken, for there was only parking in the street up against the curb, no one had garages here, no one had a driveway. Everyone shared the same street.
He stood there, swigging his beer, puffing on his cigarette.
Absent mindedness. This was his absolute. Not a thing on his mind except for the inebriated sensation that tingled all the way through to his fingertips. He didn't think about the party that was going on, he didn't think about himself or his problems. He was just there. A soul stuck in an existential limbo, at that point in time, that place in space. He was infinite. Well, for the time being. That's all there is; time being.
He sensed a slight tingle of stomach acid working it's way up his esophagus and immediately snapped out of his reverie, which to his satisfaction was preceded with a short low belch. He let a short giggle, “Heh heh.” He held the bottle up to the light. There was half a beer left. He put the open bottle to his bottom lip and emptied it into his stomach in a matter of a second or two. The cool carbonated lager washed down the back of his throat, he felt refreshed, a sudden spark permeated through his nervous system which made his spine shiver and electrocute the rest of his body into a delightful convulsion. He threw the bottle into the patch of grass which is what some would call a front yard and started walking towards the street down the cement path from the doorway. He didn't know what he was doing, God didn't even know what he was doing. Eli let his body take control over itself and went with it. He walked a little over a quarter of a mile swinging his arms back and forth and even stopped to light up another cigarette, he took one drag and gagged. His face pinched together in a manner that said ’never again’ and he flicked the cigarette into the gutter, he took the pack of cigarettes from his flannel pocket and threw them into the gutter as well. For a strange reason, this made sense to him. He made it to the end of the dead-end street covered in darkness; no houses, no lights, no people, nothing except for a guardrail that stretched from one side of the street to the other and stopped the street before it turned into a thick patch of woods. His eyes were already adjusting to the darkness when he penetrated the end. He could make out the silhouettes of the individual trees which started the edge of the woods. The ground was thick, covered in leaves, and all sorts of shallow foliage, trash that had washed down the road to that very end for decades now. He didn't think, didn't question why or know why, he simply walked straight into the wall of darkness. No fear came over Eli; when he was drunk, death, pain, this meant nothing to him, just another imminent occurrence in an imminent world of pain and passing on.
Five minutes passed and Eli was still walking at a steady pace cutting straight through the woods in a bee-line. His eyes had begun to focus in the darkness. His legs were constant victims to tiny pricks and scratches from thorn bushes and random natural debris. None of this inflicted with his concentration on what was straight ahead. Five minutes turned into thirty and he was still walking. What was driving him, he didn't know, he just kept walking, increasing his pace little by little after a few minutes here and there. His cell phone in his left back pocket started to vibrate. He always kept his phone on vibrate, he hated ring tones, the sound of ringing phones made him cringe. At first he ignored it until it stopped. A minute and a half passed by and it started buzzing again. He ignored it until it stopped again. A few more seconds later it started buzzing once more. He pulled the phone from his back pocket and refused to observe who was calling him.
A question ran through his mind at the next moment.
“What are you?”
“I am…?” he answered.
He opened the back of the phone and removed the battery, he threw it as hard as he could, he pitched his phone the same way, while still maintaining a steady pace into the unknown. Suddenly he started running, in fact, he was sprinting. He took long hurdles with each stride of his legs, unaware of where each step would land him, he kept going on. "I am…" kept passing through his mind. "I am..."
His muscles were beginning to swell, burn. His recent sedentary life in his room had started to take a toll on him. He started perspiring from his forehead and under his arms, sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes, he enjoyed these pleasant discomforts, he welcomed them.
A low branch jutting out from a thin tree snagged onto his open flannel which in turn jerked him back to the right almost making him run in an half circular arch. He thrust himself back left releasing his right arm from it’s sleeve and gracefully slid out of the other has he kept running forward. Goodbye my favorite flannel, you are nothing to me anymore. His body never felt as good as it did just then in his entire twenty years of existence, it was alive, finally; it was burning with a fire from deep within his body, an incredible rush of energy, as if his blood were electrical currents and his body were a machine working to its utmost potential to keep it going to keep it alive, it was pleasurable. He opened his mouth and his thin lips stretched from ear to ear, a grin he himself never thought was capable of. If there were any other people about these woods they would most certainly make him out to be insane, a madman got loose from the nearest asylum, on the run and wreaking unheard of terrors no one would dare speak of, would dread of experiencing first hand themselves. But there were no other souls in those woods just then, only Eli. Running as fast he could, smiling brighter than the sun. He became covered in scratches and pricks of all shapes and sizes, some oozing a little bit of blood, some immediately dried to a coagulated crust in thin slices barely deep enough to penetrate the flesh, rushed to the surface. Even if any wound was deep it didn't matter, his blood was too busy rushing through his muscles, keeping them functioning and working hard without failing him. In a moment everything seemed vibrant. The canopy illuminated by the moon seemed to breathe, every sound was crystal clear, every smell was smelled, everything was glorious and alive. He was more than himself. He felt lighter, as if at any moment he could suddenly lift off the ground and soar forward to his unknown destination, he continued on for more than an hour.
He stopped.
Something was wrong. He bent over keeping his legs straight, held his abdomen and vomited in front of himself, long and strenuously heaving and gagging until his stomach was empty. He remained in the same position, hunched over, mouth wide open, a long thick strand of saliva and bile hung from his mouth making its way to the forest floor, he dry heaved once more to clear his throat and spit the strand to the ground, his eyes bulging from forcing all he could from the bottom of his stomach. He coughed to relieve the sensual pain of vomiting which took hold of his diaphragm and shook his head as he always does in a sense of relief. He gave a short self conscious laugh at himself. He looked up from the ground and stared forward again. It was dark; the trees liveliness had died, everything was back to the way it was before: dark, quiet, lonely. For a moment he was afraid, but he didn't think, nothing crossed his mind, no feelings on the matter at hand, no resolution to come across, blank was his mind, just a short sensation of fear, ambivalence. Eli was in his absolute state just then, infinite, he was free and he didn't know it. Free from his own mind. The fear vanished, as quick as it surged into his primal brain. Primitive, that's what he was at that moment. No more calculating the odds and ends to situations, instinct was in full force and is what he was going to have to rely on to make it to his unknown destination. Sadness, depression, guilt, self loathing, hate, all of these things had no more room to vacate his conscious. Eli was alive for the first time; the past, the future, all the irrelevance of life did not worry him now, it was the ever occurring present that made him this way, the subconscious understanding of living in the present at all times. Ultimate reality.
He breathed in the night air and exhaled slowly. He raised his arms and stretched them out and back until he grabbed hold of his hands behind his back, he pulled up and away hands together and arched back and forth with his upper body, it felt good to stretch these muscles. He bent forward and placed his hands to his knees. He spit a wad of phlegm to the ground, became erect and began walking again. This time his eyes weren’t focused straight ahead but wandered all around, almost confused. He was struck with awe then, simplicity had never made so much sense until then. He didn't want those constant moments of clarity to vanish. Quickly he thought, it finally occurred to him, this is home. Societies, civilizations, governments, relationships, careers, money, it's all an illusion, it's all wrong, it‘s all… shameful. He understood his destination now, he understood why he escaped into the woods. "I am." flashed through his mind again.