The World As I Know It.

Late night shopping spree. Anything, everything. No item is left unpurchased. I’m plunged into darkness. I can’t help but to buy these things. But, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. But that light, turns out not to be an exit, but a flashlight, there to help me escape. But how can one escape when they don’t know how or where they’re trapped? I can’t help but wonder if maybe, if possibly I might be trapped in my own body. My body might be a limitation, an anchor that weighs down my mind. If that’s the case then I don’t know what I can do. I buy 17 boxes of powdered donuts. I hear a giggle behind me. I turn around expecting to see a little girl. But, there’s no one there. I laugh to myself and turn back around to see that there’s no one at the cash register. There never was. Everything in my fucked up life is imagination. I grab the bag filled with my boxes of donuts and leave the empty store. I walk down the desolate street and I swear I see a tumbleweed. I don’t feel like going home tonight so I decide to break into a house three blocks down. I pick the lock and hope, just hope, that someone is behind the door waiting to bash my head in and end my misery. As I nudge open the door, a chill runs down my spine followed by a drop of my heart. Before me is an empty room, I see a light peeking from underneath a door and walk over to it and open it. The light comes from static on the television set. Across the room is a very comfortable looking recliner. I sit in it and start to eat my donuts. I dream the same dream I always have. There’s a woman, she’s meant to be my "true love." I kiss her head but am never able to distinguish any features. All I see are her big brown eyes staring into mine, and all I feel is love. I wake up with a jerk in a cloud of powdered sugar and I start to cough. That dream has become a nightmare to me.

Chapter 2

I search the house until I find a shower and then I wash away the dream and all of the memories. I get out of the shower and realize I have no towel. It’s not like it matters anyway. No one will see me. I stand in front of the mirror looking into my own eyes and start to think. Think of what it would look like if my eyes exploded for no reason. What I would look like if I were bleeding from every orifice. I fall into a dream like state as I am entranced by my own eyes. I think of what things might have been like in my past if I knew what I knew now. When I finally snap out of it I’m completely dry. How long have I been standing here? No matter, the sands of time can’t be slowed. Or even rushed for that matter, no matter how much I may want it. I rummage through all the closets in the house and eventually come upon one filled with suits. I find a very nice pink suit and put it on. I’ve always liked the color pink despite the fact that it’s associated with being female. That might even be why I’ve always liked it. The suit is a bit big on me but I don’t mind. I look in the mirror and remember a moment from my childhood.

I’m sixteen. I’m wearing a suit for the first time. I’m fidgeting because the collar is so tight and I want to unbutton it. My dad yells at me, “Don’t you dare unbutton that collar! I still have to put your necktie on!” I flip him off and he punches my arm. It really hurts. He puts the necktie on me and has me put the suit jacket on. Then he tells me to look in the mirror. I stand there and I see not some sixteen year old kid, but a vision of the prospective future. My dad says, “Now we may need to get you a bigger jacket, I thought you were a 36 medium but it looks like you might be a 38.” I barely hear him over the glorified cheers I hear in my head. I’m imagining me being a really successful businessman that everybody loves. Or someone famous. All I know is that I want to be loved. The suit makes me feel loved. It’s just a regular black and white suit with a black necktie. The only unique feature of it is the cufflinks. Pink little pigs. Dad got them when he got his first suit 41 years ago. I’ve heard the story many, many times.

Chapter 3

The reflection in the mirror changes from a sixteen year old me in a black and white suit to me now. I let out a gasp of air and feel a cold sweat on my brow. It’s always painful when thinking of the things I’ve lost. I smooth down the pants and walk out of the house. The day is cold and there’s a heavy fog. I feel as if my breath is feeding the fog. As I breathe out, the smoke blends into the fog and disappears. I hear children laughing and parents yelling for them not to run too far off. It sounds more like echoes than actual voices. I hate the lack of solidity in my life. Everything flows, everything changes. My eyes start to tear up as a cloud of hopelessness starts to course through my veins. I fall to my knees and just weep for a good 7 minutes and 23 seconds. The longest I’ve ever cried is 8 minutes and 1 second. Every time I cry I dedicate my tears to them. It may not sound like it means much, but believe me it does. I hear the song Woman, by Wolfmother, unsure if it’s out loud or in my head. But, nonetheless it reminds me again of my past. I’m 17, I’m arguing with my best friend. I’m angry, angry at every girl I’ve ever tried to date. We’re yelling at each other I scream, “There’s no girl to fucking care about. No girl is worth that. None!” He screams back, “Lies. It’s all you want to see. There’s so much more right in front of your eyes. You focus on that.”

“I’ve been through enough shit through all my friends. Nothing has redeemed my faith in women. All I see left and right are women screwing men over.”

“Guys screw over women just as much, if not more. And sometimes it actually works out”

“Guys screw over women because of what has happened to them.”

“You’re generalizing. And you’re trying to justify the mistreatment of women.”

“That’s what has happened to me. I’m sure it’s happened to other guys, and I’m not trying. I’m doing. Women deserve to be mistreated because they’re bitches and they don’t know their fucking place.”

“You’re wrong and you know it. That’s a bunch of bullshit and I don’t care who this girl had sex with; nothing makes it okay for you to say that.”

“I say it because it’s the truth. Guys can like a girl so much and actually be willing to do anything for them and the girls just don’t care. Women wield too much power these days and it needs to be taken away from them.”

“That’s not even true. Gender has nothing to do with someone’s ability to care for another.”

I slip back into the present and fall.

Chapter 4

I smile. Sometimes I forget how emotional I used to be. Hell, how emotional I still am. I have a theory. If someone never hinders their emotion in any way and experiences all of the emotions at the right time, then they can live life happily. But right now I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation, but sometimes it just gets too hard. I decide to walk to the mall. It’s pretty early so I don’t really expect to see anyone. While I’m walking past a department store I see a pretty lady. I walk in and pretend to look at clothes but in reality I’m looking at her. She never acknowledges me, just stands there, posing as if she were a model in a photo shoot. I feel awkward for staring so long. I walk out and down to the food court and go to fill up a cup I find with coke. Or at least attempt to. None of the nozzles give me any refreshment. The machine needs to be refilled. I’d complain if I could. I go to a store that has furniture and I sit down. It hurts. Not the couch I’m sitting on, but my heart. My heart hurts with uncertainty and certainty at the same time. My hands start to shake and I lay down. It’d be quite a spectacle for people to see. I remember the day it happened and I cry. I cry because I am stupid. I cry because all I have is wishes that I could’ve done something. I cry. I sit up and stop myself gradually and just listen to myself breathing erratically. I stand up and smooth out the pink suit. I decide that maybe I should change and talk to that girl. I go to the store that the girl was at and find her standing in the same place. I walk past and look at shirts. I find a nice white polo shirt and some jeans. I go to the dressing room. I don’t know why I go to the dressing room, force of habit I guess. I change into the polo and jeans and walk over to the girl. “Hey…uh hi, I just wanted to ask you what it feels like to be one of the prettiest girls in the room.” Fuck, I screwed that up. It should have been prettiest, not one of the prettiest. It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t answer. And I don’t hear anyone laughing at me. Maybe I just didn’t say it loud enough. I walk up to her determined to talk to her and tap her shoulder. It’s hard like plastic. She doesn’t turn around. She just stands there, in that same stupid pose. I get mad and grab her arm, it pops off. My mind starts racing and my heart beats a million miles a minute. I’m such an idiot; she must have had a prosthetic arm which would explain why she didn’t turn around when I tapped her. I start to apologize, stumbling over words. But then I realize, she still hasn’t turned around. This is what my life has come to, hitting on and apologizing to mannequins. A funny though pops into my head; I wish I could see what those girls would do. The ones that told me, “Not if you were the last guy on earth!” Because well, I am the last man on earth..