We weren’t allowed to leave our home; the suited men were everywhere and kept insisting it was for our own safety. They wouldn’t give us a hint about what was going on.
Being right across the street, I stayed glued to my front window. It was fascinating at first. Then interesting. Then tedious. Still, I felt like I had to keep watching. There was something going on in there and I needed to know what. Nothing on television gave any indication something was wrong. Our cell phones had no service. It was as if the signals were being blocked.
Toward the end of the first day, I’d started to feel a surprising amount of apprehension. My wife, too. It felt as if we were about to receive terrible news, despite not having any reason to. Continue reading “My street was blocked off last weekend and guys in hazmat suits were doing something at my neighbor’s house.”
Someone close to me may be connected to the disappearance and murder of countless children; most of them refugees or otherwise disadvantaged – all untraceable. All forgettable. And now, all dead.
He told me about a drug called adrenochrome that could produce a high beyond any other. And unlike those other drugs, there are no ill effects. Quite the contrary; there are substantial benefits from consuming it: greater health, increased vivacity, and a host of other, smaller effects. Combine those with an intense sense of euphoria and you have a substantial demand.
The issue is this: it is a derivative of the chemicals produced by the human body when it is under intense, immeasurable fear.
My former friend, who confessed his involvement during a fleeting crisis of conscience, insisted this was true and cited a number of dubious-looking studies and fake news sites. But then there were the photos. Continue reading “I just learned the horrible, impossible truth about a drug called “adrenochrome.””
When the little ghost first starting coming to me, he whispered nice things that made me feel good.
“You have pretty hands.”
“I love how you do your nails.”
“How did you get your skin to be so smooth?”
He stayed with me all day and all night. As the days went by, though, I must have done something to make the ghost angry. Instead of mawkish pleasantries, the messages grew negative.
“I’ve seen other girls with prettier hands.”
“What happened to your nails?”
“I’m sorry your skin looks so dry nowadays.”
I started to get upset. I’d grown fond of the little ghost. Since he’d always been so positive, it was comforting. But once he started to get mean, I wondered what I’d done wrong. I didn’t want my ghost to feel like I’d disappointed him. Continue reading “The Little Ghost”
December 10, 2015.
My last day on Earth.
From the moment I was capable of proper self-reflection, I knew there was too much of me. I filled more space than any person should. I would study the area around myself and imagine lines drawn between my body and the objects nearby. The lines were too short. Stout, vulgar lines barely spanning the interstices I used to prove I wasn’t sharing mass with the walls and furniture.
A plan bloomed within me and seeded the foundation of my identity. As I was shuffled from foster home to foster home, I began to restrict the amount of food I consumed. The general lack of care for my wellbeing, which I’m certain would have devastated the psyche of other adolescents, was my greatest advantage. With each refused meal, the lines separating me from the mass of the world grew longer. I bathed in the reinforcing glow of success. Continue reading “My Constellation”
So, um, remember when I told you about the baby I’m gonna have? Me too, lol. It’s gonna be so great. Oh but yeah that’s not why I’m sad.
You know how my parents aren’t really ever around and stuff? Yeah, it turns out they like…stopped living? Like a while ago? And I’ve been living with foster parents for like a year?
Haha no jk they’re fine but they’re on vacation lol. It’s cool they know how mature I am and let me be alone and watch my stupid brother even though my dumb sister got all dead and stuff. But yeah here’s why I’m sad. And no, it’s not poor gay Kevin (I call him Gaykev now.)
I promised my parents I’d go to church on Wednesday night and I did thank you very much. I walked all the way over there and went down all those flights of stairs and sat at mass for five hours until the Gift stopped bleeding. And breathing lol. Continue reading “Guuuuuuuuuuuuuys I’m saaaaaaaaaaaaad :(“
“Under every scrap of confining skin is the potential for escape. When life grows from your husk, you, in turn, may be reborn.” -William James Lemaire: Seeding the Verdant World
It had been so, so long since my soulmate had felt anything resembling escape.
We sat and talked about the process that would surely end his life. Our Benefactor, William, had proposed this journey to us at our final meeting. William, who’d given so much of his time and energy to the wretched around him, was generous in imparting his wisdom. He believed my soulmate could be saved – but only if he gave his life to the Verdant World. I remember looking at the swaying trees and long grass around us – trees and grass seeded by the numberless Saved. It was a defining moment.
“Grow what we love in whom you love.” -William James Lemaire: Seeding the Verdant World
I kissed the lips of my soulmate before removing them. He didn’t move. Tears sprouted from the corners of his closed eyes. The sweet taste of his kiss lingered as I poured honey in and around his new mouth. The honey was from bees which had pollinated the flowers grown from other Saved. The cycle was continuing with us. We whirl the wheel. Continue reading “Escaphism”
Bodies in bodies.
Bodies of bodies.
True knowledge requires self destruction. I’d always preached it, but I’d never practiced it. Never, until this morning, when the red wire slipped into the black module and I moved while going nowhere. My consciousness – my essence – erupted from my body and left me standing in that busy room of machines and batteries and magic.
(Magic is nothing without machines and batteries.)
I left my body without looking back. The air was smoky and shimmering. The walls were porous. No sound met my earless nothingness. There was only sight. My third eye; my soul; my angel: my guide. My everything.
I traversed the room and slipped through the wall. Continue reading “To Travel”
It’s almost impossible to sleep when there’s a cricket in your room. I know. I’ve tried. The constant chirping as the bug seeks out some nonexistent mate is enough to drive you crazy. And I’ll admit: for a time, I may have lapsed into a mental state that wasn’t the healthiest for me. It would happen to anyone under those conditions.
I went a good two weeks without sleeping more than 10 minutes a night. The sound was constant and inescapable. I did some searches online and was told I could buy a lizard who’d eat the thing and end my torment. I let three of them loose before I went to work and never saw them again. The chirping continued unabated. Continue reading “Endless Chirping”
Hello, readers! My name is Rudolph Baylor. I am composing and submitting this narrative of the other night’s events from my, and our, friend’s account for reasons I will momentarily reveal. For the sake of full disclosure, I must admit I am the man with whom he has been working. For those unfamiliar with our time together, please see the mildly-stylized narratives here and here.
Now that we are on the same page, I will provide a bit of personal backstory heretofore unknown to you all.
As I mentioned above, I am Rudolph Baylor. I’m 52 years old. In what now seems like a past life, I was a day-trader who made quite a bit of money in the forex markets during the early growing-pains of the Euro adoption. I’m by no means a King Midas, but I’ll just say I’ve been quite fortunate.
One of the problems with making enough money in a few years to last one’s lifetime is trying to fill the following years with purpose. I ended up doing what many, many people have done when searching for purpose: I trawled the Internet. Most of this trawling was to kill time. I make no effort to hide that fact. As a man uninterested in the hedonia that drives others to seek social and sexual interactions, I sought intellectual stimulation on the World Wide Web. Continue reading “I’m still traumatized by what happened when I answered that Craigslist ad, part 3”
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It’s not easy to organize a marathon. You need to get permits to use the roads, you need to plot out a course, you need to find vendors and sponsors and volunteers and safety professionals and, above all, runners.
As shitty as it sounds, the bombing at the Boston marathon helped bring attention to road races. People want to run to show their solidarity. This is all over the Western world, mind you – not just in the US. That’s why my partner and I got the idea to put on this race in Belfast. He’s from there, I love the city, and hell, what better a location to conduct a marathon than a place with the word “fast” in its name? The marketing writes itself.
The Belfast city council approved the marathon pretty quickly. It didn’t conflict with any other road event and Belfast was doing some citywide “healthy living” campaign, so another road race only helped draw attention to it. Continue reading “Runners, part 1”