1
The raindrops pelted the window like miniature mountains. Rivers went down the pane, rivers from a deluge. By then the bar would be filling up, nothing held the Scarletons from partying but today was unique.
Macfearson awoke from his brooding. "I think I know what is happening here or why it is happening. I see it now." He had scuttled Macxermillio to a booth by one of the windows. After minutes of staring into empty air, these were his first words followed by an eerie pause of the same magnitude.
Macxermillio waited impatiently, eager to finally get rid of his own speculations. He leaned forward from across the table and nodded on encouraging Macfearson can carry on.
Macfearson looked about the bar and fixed his surgical gaze on Kim and I. "I think this situation is orchestrated. Not that it is staged in any way but that something is manipulating this situation for a purpose." He sighed. Macxermillio's reserved nature was greatly appreciated by the break, allowing Macfearson to draw his thoughts together and weave them into a more credible web that did not only make sense to him but to his henchmen as well. The process was a delicate one, like any underdeveloped idea. He could lose it at a moment's distraction like a very good idea extinguished at its infancy by short-term memory loss. That was a frown of a man who was working hard to make sure that does not happen. He did not wince in pain, he did so to contain himself. The worst distraction then would have been one that comes from his own impulsive mind.
“The calling is always telling us to commit suicide, when we refuse we become so frustrated we sample people out of fear of the unknown .” Fear was never the word we used. We just wanted to be certain about what we getting ourselves into. The calling gave us clues and tips we just needed to verify our suspicions. “The calling never tells us anything when we ask, except maybe ask that we trust it or just do as it wishes. I believe that the calling has wanted to communicate with us, but not by words. What are words and explanations anyway, the calling is trying to reach out to us in more powerful ways that gives us an experience and inject it into our conscious experience immediately. Do you get it?”
Macxermillio felt the venom. “Are you saying that – wait, how did you come to this conclusion ?”
“We always doubted the calling to an extent, haven’t we?”
“Yeah?”
"As soon as we went to the therapist the urges became stronger. I believe that was a sign. I can't tell you what but I believe it was for something. When we were about to come here the crop revealed itself to us in a vision or something. We were there and it was real as you are in front of me here. I believe the calling did that. And I believe that right here in this place with Kim the calling is trying to tell us something we have missed all along. Macx, there is an answer here, in this conversation with her and I feel like we are missing it. We may never get it back if we miss it." Macfearson took in a deep breath. "The calling may be using her to communicate with us and guide us to the crop. You felt something didn't you?"
Macxermillio reluctantly replied, "There is an odd feeling I won't deny that." His tone embroiled with doubt.
“We should be very attentive of what she says or said, not only that but observant as well. I was wrong about her being a sample. There is something about the way she speaks and this new revelation she just had. It is no coincidence,” Macfearson said.
“What other reasons do you have to believe this?”
Macfeasron closed his eyes trying as much as possible to gather and formulate his syrup of perceptions in a way that Macxermillio could taste in full and appreciate his view. The web of thoughts had collapsed though, it was hard to revive it in a way that did not only make sense to him but could be conveyed.
What is it am I saying that is not right? How can I put this in motion and make him understand? It is very crucial he does. Damn it! I always seem to be bad at explaining things. He is the genius he should get it, he thought.
There used to be a time when they understood each other as if they shared the same mental field, now he wouldn't tell you what happened or why when it is needed the most it did not come back.
“Macx, it is not something I can’t fully explain to you. You just have to experience it. Look, the vision was a preparation for what is coming. Now Kim is the second instalment of that message. Do you feel the calling pressing down at your hand right now?”
“No.”
“Obviously we are doing something right. We are getting closer to the crop. Kim is not a lifeling at this point… nor is she a deathling. She is now a servant. The calling can't talk to us directly to address our questions, but at least we have something. I feel it so strongly and perhaps in time you will,” Macfearson said. Then without his authority, his tongue added, “Our salvation depends on it.”
They came out with such conviction that a glaze appeared in Macxermillio’s eyes, perhaps finally getting it.
“How much money do you have with you?” Macfearson asked.
Macxermillio looked at him as if Macfearson was an impolite stranger. In a way a lot had changed and the man in front of him had surpassed him, maybe not in knowledge or mastery but insanity. For a while he did not say anything, his mouth gaping.
“I don’t imagine we have much time with her,” Macfearson indicated with a nod.
Macxermillio firmly shook his head. “I have a hundred bucks at least.” Still maintaining a reluctant gaze.
“Good, good,” Macfearson’s tone enthusiastic and nervous at the same. He ruffled his hair in vain. “We should tell him to extend our time then. Maybe another thirty minutes?” his voice was bearing an elevated desperate edge.
Macxermillio shook his head. “No.”
“What?” Macfearson frowned.
"No, I don't wanna be part of this one. I don't know what the heck you think you see, but I don't see it. I'm not with you on this?"
“What?” Disbelief and shock the subject of Macfearson’s frown.
“Have you and Sandy been popping pills or some shit?”
“What?”
“Where is your vocabulary, deathling?” Macxermillio shouted. With the music around it wasn’t as frightening as it could have been, but since Macxermillio was not the kind that shouts it made an impression. Surprise and shock provoking.
“What the fuck?” Macfearson muttered. “What the fuck?”
“Look at me, dopey!” Macxermillio demanded.
Macfearson did, seeing his face might help him swallow the pill.
“You threatened me with a weapon today all because you were feeling something about her. All you have been talking about are just hunches and theories and nothing more. Why the hell put all our money on it? Sounds all the same to me. There is still no reason to trust the calling whatsoever. It is Satan tempting Jesus in the wilderness situation. It is enticing us. This is what it wants to go off course. If it has possessed Kim a little well that is fine, but we are not gonna be led astray. You fucktart!"
“But this is it !” Macfearson protested. “It is different. The vision had a different vibe Sandy saw it too.”
“Why the hell should we mess up an opportunity on something so vague?” Macxermillio spluttered, not in the manner he usually spoke - fierce and confrontational.
Macfearson inhaled and as he exhaled his words were swallowed at infancy as soon as his mind nimbly warned him how terrible a response it would be. How ridiculous would he sound? That is the last thing you want to do when you want to convince someone, but this was not just someone. It was Macxermillio.
A first fight with a friend is always the most harrowing when you have spent years with them without ever having one. Your guard is literally down. You have not paid much attention to their strengths and weaknesses so that come a time for a quarrel you will have devised enough strategies to carry you through. Why do so anyway? After all, you are not going fight. It is blasphemy to even consider the possibility of it, in fact, you cannot imagine it because there is never going to be a serious fight. Yes, there may be arguments and disagreements but those are never really like a fight. In arguments, people do not make personal attacks and speak at such dark and fierce tones. At least not Macfearson's friend Macxermillio. This was a double impact, an argument and a fight at once. That is how it felt for Macfearson, Macxermillio was continuing to reject him and belittle him. The words which darted out of Macxermillio's mouth and in the manner in which they did made a pretty conclusive case for him.
Macfearson, not the one good with words, had risen to his feet.
“Don’t fucking give me that!” He exploded, all the act unsurprising for Macxermillo, he might as well lean back and watch. “You never questioned Sandy with his therapy idea. You gave him a go. Never held him back and put him through such scrutiny.”
"Well, it is still being tested. Wait your fuckin' turn. Jeez, you such a hothead! Stupid," Macxermillio said, sensing the envy.
“Mine can only work now. It is a brief opening.”
“What do you want me to do, exactly? Give this whore more and more money until what happens exactly?”
Macfearson gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “I will know it when I see it.”
“You are asking me to have faith?”
“Yeah… faith in me at least. You never have for a while.” He spat.
Macxermillio stayed quiet for a moment.“You know what to look for?”
“Yes.”
“Intuitively?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask you something else too?”
“Yes.”
“Why did it only show itself to the two of you?” Macxermillio asked.
Macfearson suddenly understood what it was all about. The man had spent most of his life working at this and doing most of the hard work and the very thing he searches for did not reveal itself to him. The one whose efforts had been immeasurable.
“I’m sorry, Macx.”
Macxermillio paradoxically smiled, a tear hanging in his left eye. “It knows I wouldn’t have fallen for it or it plans to make me suffer.”
2
“You are too modest for someone who is paying to talk to someone. Too paced. It’s almost suspicious,” said Kim.
“You would be.”
"If I knew what you were going through maybe," She said as she picked her phone from her purse.
“Are you disappointed, Kim?”
“Why?”
“That I’m not interested?”
“I will not answer that,” she wagged her finger.
“Give in to the mystery of this situation, my dear.”
She looked up and rolled her eyes as exquisitely as ever. The way she did was artistic, possessing of both cheerfulness and innocence. Her grin a snowflake you wish could be frozen in time and kept. Its vigour and liveliness polarizing. It was no mystery why men would want to thrust that, but it is a mystery why she carries on when she could stop. At least I assumed she has the privilege to.
“Dear or deer?”
I chuckled. “Whatever you choose to be.”
“Deer.” She nodded.
“You want to be hunted.”
“No deer has such a wish I believe.”
“You wanted to be my deer. Now I decide what we do. You are mine, I own you now.” I playfully leered at her.
I could hear her feet shuffle underneath the table on the wooden floor. She put her hands out of my view under the table. It pleased me to imagine she was reaching for her pussy to pleasure herself.
“Alright,” she nodded.
“Now that you are mine can you tell me why you carry on doing what you are doing. Your business,” I asked.
She just stared at me. For the first time, she looked dull. "We don't have much time anyway. I might as well tell you, assuming this is what you are really interested in. You paid me … and you were very kind."
“Thank you.”
"Why did you approach me with such a request, though? I mean why did you choose me for this kinda thing?"
“If you think because you looked like a whore or someone who might need the cash it is nothing like that. I chose you because you have this feeling about you. A very pleasant presence and you looked kind enough not to just dismiss me.”
“Okay. Let me tell you this. I’m not addicted to smoking or anything. I get a head rush now and then. I don’t know what it’s like to crave ciggies. But I smoke anyway. I don’t want to stop smoking neither do I want to carry on. It is just something I do without a real good reason why I’m doing it. I’m just doing it because it’s what I do. Sometimes I don’t do it and it is fine. Mostly I do it and that is fine also. Ever had a thing of that nature? Something you’re not exactly sure why you’re doing it, why did you start, why you’re carrying on or why you would not stop? And I’m not saying this for some poetic effect or fucking dramatization. I mean something that has this specific nature,” she enthused.
I nodded my response, suspicious that my words may ruin the direction of things. Also, because I never had such an experience and I would not risk the chance of her smelling that.
She continued in her rapt demeanour, “It is the same with what I’m doing. It’s so. There’s no profound reason. Not that it’s required anyway. It’s just a goddamn thing. It’s just an it for me. I’m not saying no reason is satisfactory. What I’m saying might be that it is a mystery or I have never bothered thinking about it. I shouldn’t think hard. Remember what I said? Give in to the mystery.”
“I guess this one is for both of us.”
Truly I did not know what she meant exactly, I could not comprehend it. Some things did not make sense to me or perhaps I was not paying attention. I did pay attention as far as I was concerned. As a philosophy student, not that this is a major integral part of my life, I knew the power of analogies. How easily analogies can highlight the subtleties and open your eyes to some truths. It is like someone is literally pushing up your eyelid and enhancing your vision so that you see everything clearly. I needed to see what she meant, on that mental level – to let our minds kiss.
She laughed. “Well, perhaps. So aren’t you gonna spill the beans for me?”
3
“Honestly, it is entirely up to her,” Macxermillio said with his smug and suave tone. Not far from his default one.
“What do you mean?” Macfearson asked a frown upon his face.
“If she wants to stay she will stay. If she wants to go she will go. Our money can’t make her do anything really,” Macxermillio replied rubbing his chin with his thumb and forth finger. That could mean he had already made a judgement from an observation he had made, most probably from…
“Does not mean we should not try it. We will see what she will do or decide. We should at least present an opportunity for her. Who are we to say what she is going to do next?” Macfearson contested.
Macxermillio tightened his lips. He looked sulkily reluctant because truly he had lost. “We can. She seems to have her mind made up though. The offer we made her is a bargain.”
“Maybe we should offer to fuck her then.”
“Offer?”
“She is more keen for that than all of the chatting. She detests the chatting, she does not really enjoy it. But sex is something she would do anytime and anyway. She has been pushing for this point from what I gather. That says something indeed. Doesn’t it?” Macfearson challenged.
Macxermillio’s eyes glistened at the thought. “You would do that? Buy sex?”
"If you think about it, it's not really buying sex if she wants to get it on. I am merely donating or leaving a thank you note in a form of cash."
Macxermillio shook his head. “Maybe you should find out first before you hand her the cash?”
“Are you implying something?”
“Maybe she hungers for cash than your cock. Have you considered the possibility?”
Macfearson's scowl teemed with sarcasm mixed with frustration. " Have you been listening to her?"
Macxermillio withheld his reply and simply gave him a questioning glance, the kind that made one question their confidence. As the purpose of his gesture was met he glanced outside and grinned at a private thought he had with glowing confidence.
“What?” Macfearson asked, unnerved.
Macxermillio kept his silence and manipulative indifference.
“Are you saying she won’t fuck me?” Macfearson said. “She would fuck anyone for no fucking reason and I would bang that pussy if it got me the chance at the crop.”
Macxermillio held his silence a lot longer enjoying the impact it has. Heightened emotions and Macfearson were a lethal chemistry.
Macfearson went on. “She definitely won’t mind, she is definitely serving it up tonight.”
"Do me a favour. If you wake up drive your sword through her heart. Especially when she orgasms, or faking it – I really don't give a damn as long as you sample her," Macxermillio replied darkly. He had the type of sarcasm that was hard to note because his tone did not fluctuate as much. One had to know him to get it, perhaps that is the difference between dark humour, sarcasm or awkward humour. Macxermillio stood upright and gave him the glare of reckoning, graceful in its demeanour. His tactic was mostly one of incongruence, the opponent never gets what they expect from listening to that voice or studying his face. Also, there was a mysterious scar which no one knew where it came from. Stories were spun about it, but none was free from any doubt. I never knew what those stories were, never truly wanted to know – it was one of those things about him that granted him automatic authority. Respect a man with a scar across his face. And no, even when we asked he never told us.
Macxermillio ambled towards the door. “I’m not aiding you. We agreed on this. Don’t ruin it...you know what happens when you do that.”
4
“Ah, do I worry you?” I asked Kim. Puzzled by her tone as she requests I tell her what brings me here.
“I’m quite curious. It is weird to say the least.”
“It might just be I wanted to talk to you. Thought it would be fun to pay you, gives you something to talk about or think about. Mundane things never spark any conversation, it is the most unusual of things that do,” was surprised the words rolled off my tongue and I had no belief in their truth or falsity. The quantum of genuine confidence in them was feeble.
She took a gulp from her drink and hooked her handbag on her shoulder. She sat upright like one preparing to leave. As I studied her, questions bombarded my mind.
“Never looked like one in the business for just that,” she said.
“That means?”
“It never appeared to be your intention to be honest. Never showed much interest in me specifically for your claim to stand ground.”
“Hmm, I have been told that I’m very bad at expressing myself. I am awfully hard to read. That might have been the case,” I contended, scooting off to an argument I wish she would not follow. Some things I would rather keep to myself, other things I couldn’t trust a lifeling with. Jelly is better at holding things into place than they are. I made the mistake of disclosing once and I would not do it again. Creatures of deceit and dishonesty these lifelings were, even a shove of passion between her legs would not sway them.
“I’m not saying your expression was absent or difficult .”
“In your view what would constitute someone who shows genuine interest to talk to you. How would you tell by just looking at them or reading their face – whatever the fuck you do?”
She pinched her lower lip. “Okay. Okay. Are you saying you can’t read people’s faces and what they mean? ”
“I’m not sure I can. We are not animals that is why I prefer honesty to the full. People being blunt and straightforward. Body language is part of a ‘guise. I am not the kind for faith and making conclusions based on it like playing a game of poker.” I paused. “Say faith !”
She frowned. “Faith?”
“Yeah, say the word.”
“Faith,” she looked puzzled.
“Just saying it tires you. Isn’t it the most tiring and monotonous word you ever heard?”
She giggled.
I continued. “Now imagine having to do the word. It is a waste of time, Kim.”
“Okay-okay. I see. But if you value being direct so much why can’t you be?”
“What gives you the idea that I’m not being direct? Is it your faith once more?”
She gasped in exasperation. Dropped her shoulders and glanced down. “You make it hard for people to care for you I imagine,” she quietly said, almost to herself.
A tinge of emotion swelled in me, sudden and convicting.
“Why are you saying that?” my tone was more sullen and thoughtful. I could feel the muscles in my face droop with the weight of some grave emotion.
She scowled, surprise or maybe shock in her eyes. "Um… well, you never really wanna chat or open up.This way, I just imagine it must be hard for those who would like to get to know you or for those who know you to be there for you," she spoke in very impersonal manner, treading carefully so she may not upset me. This coldness was from a warm place though, one too familiar for my liking.
I nodded gradually, digesting the words. I measured the conviction in her eyes through my playful visage and I tasted the thought of crushing her confidence.
5
He strolled into the pelting rain. The door behind him shutting with all the music and festivities it housed. The torrent a roaring monster. The black sky occasionally electrified with tendrils of lightning through and between synapses of the dark menacing clouds. The street and sidewalks deserted by its patrons, the hawkers, students and beggars. It was a forlorn tonight. A sheet of water flowed downhill, from up campus, on the road and overflowed onto the sidewalk itself. The water thrashed like a cold shower from hell, but he was oblivious to his garment soaking and the cold. The water trickled down to his boots and into them. He just stood there as if unable to move from exhaustion. Just a dark figure with slumped shoulders and a drooping head among the shadows.
“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself. “I feel so freakin’ numb.”
He laughed dryly, lifeless as ever. He reached into his side pocket. Felt for a razor blade. He was sloppy and apathetic about the matter, not caring if he cut himself. He retrieved it. Held it in his right hand and pushed up the sleeve of his trench coat to expose his wrist. For a while, he stared at the many scars that straddled across his wrist. Some red and some brown, some covered with scabs. As the rain tapped his wrist. He felt a faint throb of pain from his fresher scars as they came into contact with the rain. Finding his wrist and lower arm crowded, he pushed the sleeve up to his elbow to find two-centimetre gaps between several thicker and older scars. He stopped to think of how he had always considered the thickest one a souvenir of time long past and entrenched in his very being and character. It was one of the defining moments for him. He smiled and shook his head at the memories and the faint soothing voice of his mother. In truth that was all he had, that faint voice, he remembered nothing of her or her face. Nothing of his childhood. All he had to remember were the pictures of a bloody knife in a small inexperienced hand and the voice of his mother from behind his neck and how a moment afterwards there was a dull throb in his left hand. The scar should have faded, but he kept it alive as a memento. Some attempt not honouring the true shape of it but acceptably close to resembling it.
He shifted his gaze across the street thinking maybe he should walk across for his business. With no traffic but parked cars on either side of the road the idea was he would acquire some privacy on the darker side of the road where a number of streetlights were not working at all.
And so he walked.
What the fuck is that over there? Oh, fuck! It is just a tree shaped funny. It kinda looks like a person is leaning on it with his pot-belly protruding,
He laughed.
Where should I sit? Ummm, I think under the tree will be alright. The image could make for an interesting portrait I think. Gloomy, dark and honest like me, not those fucking rats in there without a fuckin’ breath of life in them.
Whoa, was that too harsh? Fuck it, fuck them! I have always been on my fuckin’ way and they found me on this road. Seeking my fucking guidance and wisdom, now they think they saw God?
I could use a cigarette in my hand right now.
No. No, it's fine.
I just need to sit and… and do whatever it is I am doing right now. I have no idea what I am doing right? Can I possibly be wrong in all of this? Let's truly think about it and bash our heads on it. First of all, they never had a clue what was wrong with them before they met me or what they were. Now they assume they know shit about it. Always been a lone wolf, really doesn't matter what the hell they decide to do.
Guess I belong here on the road with my logic and common sense.
What the hell was Macfearson talking about? It sounds like the same conspiracy bullshit spewing from the mouths of lifelings. "The calling has orchestrated it," he says. It is all the same theory twisted around, or whatever way it can be.
A drunk whore thinks she has uncovered the meaning of life and they go drooling over her. I see meat. Just pure fuckin’ meat. I bet Cheryl has even a brighter idea than Ms Prostitue. Fuck the bitch, and maybe your wits will come back. Confusing seduction and lust for a profound life changing experience for the calling itself. Are they so desperate to believe anything?
Why didn’t I tell him this? Damn !
Whoah, this concrete is cold on my- wait, I can feel the water flowing right under my balls.
He sat cross-legged at the edge of sidewalk facing the bar. He sighed, “This feels pretty good.”
As his thoughts scampered about barren territory a weight came upon his shoulders. The air around him constricted and the roar of the rain became muffled. Things occupying his sight grew trite and surreal. Colour seeped away to unknown depths, with it the sense of time and being the occupant of his own body. He felt like a smudge on the tapestry of existence and the universe. His thoughts weakening and melting into a meaningless and nitwitted goo. All he was and his core was unknown to him. He was not sure if he had an ability to understand anything or conceive of anything. It was as if his being was stretched from an agent of his own will to a spectator. Any connection to his being was diminished to a point of almost non-being. The universe felt small and insignificant, like a painting with no depth or life but the illusion of it – the pointless struggle of becoming real, alive and meaningful. He understood everything yet felt so stupid and ignorant.
He knew, with instinctive knowledge, what he needed to ask. Not sure if his lips moved or the words flew from his mind, he asked, “Why didn’t you come to me?”
Like a trigger, the monstrous arms of the abyss swerved towards his being and uprooted it like a whirlwind. Violent convulsions engulfed him. His screams must have been amplified because he was convinced his throat was tearing like dry cloth and his jaws were breaking from the projectile spewing out of him. To his ears, there was nothing but the sound of the emptiness compressing him on a very congested atmosphere. He could see himself from a profile view and at the same time the sight of his physical eyes. It felt as though he had always been there and a deep understanding consumed him, divine but not strange.
The voice of the calling came to him as if from the dying embers of a soul, windy and cold, “Wasn’t I always with you?”
Suddenly filled with shame so deep and so unbearable, he cried, " FATHER! I AM SO SORRY. FORGIVE ME!"
He wept as more layers of his stupidity peeled and how small his knowledge is compared to the magnitude of that beast. He needed no explaining or talk, he could just understand it now. In these few seconds it seems his brain had aged a thousand more years. Mentalese was the main language here, and for that he was grateful because the voice of the calling was harrowing. The guilt was a thousand fold in weight.
"STOP! PLEASE, FATHER!"
“Do you see?” the voice spoke once more into his mind.
"I SURRENDER, FATHER," he cried, a torrent of tears gushing from his eyes. "YOUR WILL BE DONE!"
“I bestow to thee, my son, this,” forgiveness rang in that tone, but it was still too painf