Story by Angry-Spirit.
Cannot Cry But Only Shrink
What have I put upon myself. This is me, this is my mind disorganized, drenched in its diverted self, there is nothing but me all over me. Lift me up me. Me help me!! Where is my fucking card, fuck fuck. “I’m outside.” “I’ll be there in a minute, give me a second.”
Can’t he get his shit together spending his time looking through shit, he lives in trash, why? Do I want to be around a person like this, fucking loser. Every minute that goes by I feel it, wasting my gas, I should just go leave.
Where the fuck fuck is it, fuck fuck fuck. “In for a min, got to go sorr- …ol, I’ll see you lat-”
What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t be like that, I don’t want to be like that, nothing but friction is myselves. I feel so hot. So hot. It is in my face. He’s not busy, he’s tired of my shit, probablyprobably, I’ll… just… The papers, the cartons, the packages, me; it’s going. In moments.
Have to find my lighter first, ha, I guess I saved myself. Can’t find shit. Instinctively grabs for his cigarettes.
I want to fog this out the facial heat, turmoil, but there it is agai..heat up in..just lit a cigarette..ha I found it… I did find it.
I’m never going to fix this, the damage is done, this is the right thing to do, the strong thing to do. I am a drag on everyone, I’m toxic. I pick up some magazine and light it with my cigarette. I walk it up the stairs, red projected on the walls and ashes drop to the ground; I shake he shakes. To his room he brings the amber light and throws it on the bed that rides on a sea of trash. And I’m crying and he’s crying.
This fire spreads slowly spidering through the different materials, and this heart is rattling and another him alongside me the immobile frightened one. I, he, is puppeted to the bathroom and dumps out the trash can, spilling the shit rags on to the gross floor and in the act the cigarette, that whimpering mad man stamps out by accident “ow” with a bare foot. Carrying himself in his own sobbing arms. He turns on the shower and fills the scummy trash can with water. The smoke he can smell, the plastic burning, the smoke outgassing from his bedroom.
Fuck bellowing fuck bellowing bellowing “fuck” tears down his face from those harsh chemical, flames, fear and failure. He throws the filled trash can’s water into the room engulfed in flames. Fuck. Call the pol..et more wat..e fire exst..let it burn. All the different sides of I and him and that man converge into none having been three parts of a converse, quiet inside. Out he goes and imagining a cold wind, a cold wind leading him at the back from is bedroom door to the front yard. Where he lights another.
The fire is burning.
His room is burning.
Ha! at least I left my room today… ha!
He remembered that he had tears on his face. That it was all his fault and that somehow he just made it worse, he made himself worse, he couldn’t even erase his life, to weak to die.
Calls his mother.
“What, Tim, are you alright?”
“Ha!..yeah, I’m fine.”
“I’m just calling to see how you are… I guess,” he walks further away from his house in ruining.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m doing fine actually.. actually have to go.”
“Alright? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I just got a job.. so I got to go.”
“Ok… love you.”
Bands of color and patterns that don’t exists, the sidewalk shifts the squares get big then small then big, the ground is just a skin that covers an ocean, Tim falls over unable to keep his balance, the rising side walk tide tosses him into the street and a car stops the tires screech the engine still hauling stillness gone to noises, it doesn’t full the wheels accelerate the breaks grating, the tires spinning,burning . The car door opens. Out steps a beautiful muscular man. Tim looks into his eyes and the face changes and shifts, but still holds its symmetry, Tim he’s picked up, grabbed by his collar and he shrinks to half his size at the grasp. This Satan picks him up without effort without the forces of nature upon his decisions and the car that he was in grows, it exceeds the limits of street and overflows partially submerging under the ground. The man carries him into the arch way a former car window, three fours of the car under the asphalt. Tim cannot cry but only shrink; he shrinks and shrinks and he is just a pebble in his hand. This Satanic hand when it’s heart does not beat it is icy cold and when the pressure is driven against the blood he is iron white hot. they walk into the car that is now the size of a cathedral Tim runs screaming panicking in circles and so he shrinks he shrinks he is a molecule, Satan’s face is projected on to every misty matter sphere and Tim shrinks and shrinks and shrinks and shrinks.
Tim laid in the street.
“Get the fuck off the ground, what the fuck is wrong with you, get up, you can’t lay in the street hello! Hello!”
Tim puts his hand gently on the angry man’s wrist, “I’m sorry,” he walks himself to the curb and sits down.
“You’re lucky I didn’t run you over, you’re lucky I didn’t call the cops, get up.. you’re a loon” he slams the car door and car drives away.
Tim sees Bryan’s copper car in the distance.
He pulls into his driveway, he gets out
“What.. you don’t look right… why is your… lets go… inside.”
Tim follows Bryan inside his own house.
“Lets clean this… do you have trash bags.”
“Actually I think have bags in my room, I think.. actually.. um don’t go.”
Bryan walks in to Tim’s room that has been destroyed by fire.
“TIM WHAT FUCK”
“Oh.. I couldn’t find my card when you came.”