Today I have written an experimental piece. The change in POV is supposed to depict the loss of control the main character in experiencing, over his own actions. I’m not certain it has worked – but it was worth a try for the sake of art!
I called her name and silence was the only answer. That was enough to tell me everything that I needed to know. Is it wise to call forth the demons of our past and let them feast upon our souls? I hadn’t thought of that name in a very long time. A wasted kiss in the depths of a broken mind called to me from memories of a life once lived. She left me hanging by my thumbs in the torture chambers of hell. I was thankful that she was finally gone.
He woke up that morning – he had been lost in the monotony of his life for so long now that he had forgotten how to breathe. Every now and then he found himself staring into the distance, wondering what it would be like if he didn’t stop himself from jumping in front of that oncoming train. He never had enough money; everything he earned went to her and her interminable illness. The life that he had now was not satisfactory – but how could he find out about an afterlife, without dying. How could he know about it for sure?
Was this my purpose, or was I destined for some other kind of greatness? I gritted my teeth and gripped the gun hard in my left hand. It felt as though it had been made especially for me. Forged from the finest of steel and iron and whatever else went into the construction of the weapon. It was shaped for my hand and my hand only.
He was separate from himself. It was as though he was watching someone else’s actions unfold before him. An ‘otherworldly experience’ he would later describe it as – but in that moment, he could only observe what was happening. It was as though a homunculus had taken up residence in his head and all that he could do was watch the mayhem unfold before him.
I walked into the bank. Trying not to draw any attention to myself. I had done my research and found out about all the weaknesses which stood before me. For a bank’s weakness is not in its security or the strength of its locks and thickness of its walls – it is the human factor which makes banks such easy targets.
It was all over before he could stop it. The gun which had been burning a hole in his pocket was in his hand and pointed steadily, stealthily at the woman in front of him.
He said in a voice which didn’t feel like his own, “Fill the bag with money – big bills first – make any other move and you’re gone.”
I cocked the gun and waited. She did as I told her to and then handed me the bag. I walked out as easily as I had walked in and with a sack full of cash for an easy morning’s work. I went straight to the bar. The one where the whiskey flowed freely and the women were big chested. I deserved a prize for my success. I had a fistful of bills and I didn’t care how I spent them.
The woman landed in his lap. She had breasts the size of bowling balls. He had already wasted most of his haul on her, but somehow, he couldn’t stop. He just kept tucking the bills into her bikini and she kept on dancing – knowing that she had found her mark. He wanted to go home – but the man in his head wouldn’t let him.
“Bring me more whiskey,” I said. “And here’s a little extra for you.”
I tucked the bills into her g-string, making sure to touch her for longer than was necessary. I knew that she wanted me to. Everything was going to plan – I had almost forgotten about her. Maybe if I drank some more, I could remove the memory of her and her illness from my mind forever. Erase the action potentials and neurons and synapses and glia which held any part of her.
He drank the whiskey directly from the bottle. He was sick of being at the mercy of this creature who had taken over his mind and he determined to do something about it. He took the gun out of his pocket. The one which had fit his hand so comfortably before, now fought against his every move. It was heavy and it was as though it had a mind of its own. The room emptied quickly and he was left alone with himself. He had always wanted to know about an afterlife and he decided that it was his time to find out.
I found the gun in my hand. I don’t know exactly how it happened. All of a sudden, it was under my chin and then in my mouth. It was as if someone else was suddenly controlling my body. I fought, tooth and nail to remove it, but my arm was too strong. The last thing I heard was the sound of the gun firing – the hammer slamming down against the percussion cap of the bullet and the taste of metal and fire.
He had done it. He had freed himself of his captor and it was time to escape. He picked up the little that was left of his money and he exited the room. Everybody entered the room; nobody looked at him. They were all mesmerised by the place where he had sat. He didn’t care, he just wanted to leave. As he walked up the stairs, he passed a mirror. He no longer had a reflection. He walked back down to the place where he had been, wending his way through the people. There were his brains splattered on the wall in a fractal like pattern and his body was now lying prostrate on the floor.
He turned and ran towards the exit – but he couldn’t leave, it was as though there was some kind of force field containing him; keeping him in this place. He had always wanted to know whether there was an afterlife. He had become obsessed with it – he knew that somehow it would be better than the unsatisfactory life that he had been living. It turned out that he had become an invisible man trapped in an underground strip joint.