The Finale

My family is all sitting around in a dark basement. Explosions rock the walls. Outside a battle rages, we really aren’t sure what is happening out there, but we know that we are safe down here. We were told by a voice to seek shelter and wait out the storm. What the storm is, we don’t know. Whether it is something man-made or devine, we don’t know.

I have stayed away from the national and worldwide news for a while, I know there was a lot of civil unrest everywhere but there were so many different avenues a disaster like this could happen. I don’t know the cause and I’m glad I don’t. Knowing the cause might have influenced my decision to head to the basement with my family.

The voice had been soft but distinct, it said: “Seek shelter, for the day of days cometh. The Sons of Man shall again return to reclaim their birthright. There will be 7 hours of silence, then the reaping shall commence. Seek shelter and await further instruction.”

I immediately told my spouse and daughter to gather up all the food, water and blankets we have and take them to the basement. We brought everything down and made a little game out of it. We set up a little fort in our small room beneath the stairs. We made it extremely comfortable. We brought in card games, paper and crayons, board games, and a few books. I have a vast collection of occult, religious and philosophical texts and I felt urged to bring as many as was feasible.

Now we all are sitting here, the walls shaking and banging coming from above. I reach behind me and pull out a fantasy book and begin reading aloud. I read for about an hour before my daughter falls asleep. My spouse and I hold each other tightly. My spouse had also heard the voice hours ago. We spent the night holding each other in silence, slowly letting sleep take hold.

Neon Street: Preamble

Neon Street: a place where the seediest criminals in the city congregate for stims, sex and violence. This is where I found myself one night, just a junky looking for a fix. My bionic arms shivered and shook, the sharp pain where my mods joined my flesh becoming almost unbearable now. I could barely move as I shook and transfered the last of my qin to the dealer. He threw me a stim pod and I immediately injected it. Relief flooded my system and my eye optics relaxed in my skull. I stood up and stretched, feeling my strength return.

I was a junky, sure, but I also had incredible, one-of-a-kind, military issued body mods. I had been in countless wars and had received 14 Bravery awards by the Chief of Madrigal Technologies. Madrigal was the leader in all things tech and was the enforcer of Tong City, one of the most crime ridden cities on the planet.

It was in the Battle for Silicone Beach that I was first injured. I blew out my insides jumping on a plasma mine, saving my entire platoon. I remember jumping on the mine and then my memory is hazey. I woke up in a Madrigal lab with a new stomach. My spine had been destroyed at the base, so I was given a new spine. I was modded with new eye optics and a new neurochip with a tactical operating system.

I was reinstated in the Madrigal Marines and promoted. They told me I was too precious a soldier to let die. I then nearly died 13 more times, each time gaining more and more mods. After a while, the only part left of my flesh was one of my shoulders, the front of my neck, my stomach and lungs, my mouth, and my ass. I had lost my cock on a recon mission in Balok, that was the worst accident, and the last one before I finally refused to join back up.

Madrigal allowed me to go on one condition, if I promised to be on call and to reinlist if they ever asked me to. I didn't have much choice, so I agreed. Just anything to get away from the destruction and violence of war. I left Madrigal feeling good, I was done with this place for now.

The next few days had been hell. I hadn’t accounted for or even though about the pain reduck stims I was given every three days while working for Madrigal. Pain shot through my entire body and I couldn’t get out of bed. I called up Madrigal and they shipped over a year’s supply of the stims. They would send me another supply in a year.

Over the course of the next year, things took a big turn. I started to have violent flashbacks and dreams about the many wars I’d been on. In one of my dreams, my mods became independent of me and turned on me. They beat me and tortured me to death. I woke up and craved a stim, not only did it numb the pain in my body but it numbed the pain in my psyche as well.

In one of my weekly check-ins with Madrigal, I let it slip that I was having these nightmares, I didn’t mention the stim use. Madrigal had me go to metatherapy once a week at their own funded clinic. It was nice for a while, the therapist and I would go back to visit traumas within the metaverse and we would discuss them. When the therapist suggested I go in alone to live out my traumas, I was hesitant but the therapist pushed me.

Inside, I lived every trauma like it was new. It felt like lifetimes would go by in the sessions but I would come to and only minutes had passed. I would go home and shoot up the Madrigal stims, trying to dull these memories. My pain started to return and with the amount of stims I was using, I started to need more and more to feel that numb high.

I stopped going to metatherapy and started using stims all day, everyday, for the next 6 months. I used up everything. I still had 4 months until I would get another supply from Madrigal. I couldn’t wait that long, if the pain didn’t kill me then the cravings would. After I used up the last of my supply, I went out and started to spend the monthly payments Madrigal sent me.

The dealers on Neon Street loved me, whenever I came by they would pull out all the stops and sell me the best stims on the market. I was a huge payday for them and they would soon take me for everything I was worth. They were never really my friends and I knew that, but I never expected things to turn out like they did.

I first got the call about the bankruptcy and shutdown of Madrigal when I was on my way to Neon Street. I had been happy because I was getting a new supply from Madrigal the next day. I clicked off my chat screen with a blink and fell to my bionic knees. I couldn’t cry, my eye optics didn’t have that function but I definitely sobbed. The Grand Council of Industry had seen it fit to close down Madrigal after their rivals, Enegram Tech, had risen to become a valuable asset to the Council. Madrigal was shutdown and liquidated. That meant, no more stims or qin.

I got up and walked to Neon Street, my mind a flurry. I shut off all my optics but sight. I didn’t want the world bugging me today. I walked in silence to Neon Street and paid for another week’s worth of stims. I had money saved up, I could make it last.

Now, I’m here. All my qin gone, just for one pod of stims. I needed to get more, I couldn’t go on without it. I would self annihilate without that high and that relief.

One of the dealers, a jack with some impressive mods, watched me with a keen eye. He had seen broke junkies like me before and usually ignored them totally, but by the look of my military-grade mods he could see I wasn’t an ordinary junky.

“Wa-good, jack,” he asked me, bending over to give me a hand up. I struggled to reach for his hand and he bent down and picked me up. His mods definitely weren’t just for show, he lifted my heavy bionic body and threw me on a dirty sofa.

Taking a seat next to me, he pulled out a pod of bright purple stimulant. This was top-grade stuff, even better than Madrigal would send him. He popped the stims into my neck receptor and I immediately felt relief flow over me. Not only relief, but power and euphoria. I hadn’t had this type of stim before and I liked it.

“You doin’ better now, jack?” asked the dealer.

“Much better,” I said with a grin. I then noticed who I was talking to and my tone became serious. “How much do I owe you? I have no money and can’t pay.”

“Oh jack,” said the dealer with a grin that showed row of glowing, rainbow teeth. “You can pay me back by usin’ those mods of yours.”

I knew what he was talking about. I had done some mercenary work in the past, usually just a bodyguarding job here and there for a few extra qin, nothing criminal which was definitely what this modded stim peddler had in mind.

“What’s the job?” I asked, knowing I couldn’t say no regardless of what it was.

“It’s easy, jack,” he said, still grinning. “I just need you to deliver a package for me. That’s it, jack! It’ll be just a few hours, tops.”

“What do I need to deliver?”

The dealer pulled out a long silver box with a handle on one side. “Just take this to 425 Silk Square, knock on the door and ask for Blake. When Blake shows up, you give him the package and come back to report. I’ll even give you more of these,” the dealer shoved his hand into a satchel by the couch, pulling out a handful of the bright purple stim pods.

I salivated, I would do anything he said. My mind came back to the situation and I got a little suspicious. “That’s it? No mod use?”

The dealer chuckled. “You might need to use ‘em, but it’ll be nothin’ for an army guy like you. Right, jack?”

I nodded and took the package. “425 Silk Square,” I clarified.

“That’s right,” he said. “An’ hurry it up, jack. I don’t got all day.”

I turned around to leave when the dealer stopped me. “Oh yeah, and one more thing,” he got serious. “I don’t think I gotta tell you what’ll happen if I don’t hear back from you.” He pointed a finger gun at me and immitated firing it. He winked and laughed as I left Neon Street.

_____________

I found my way to Silk Square easily, it wasn’t far from Neon Street. It was one of the giant housing structures littered around the city. This one was one of the smaller ones I had seen. 425 was on the fourth floor of a 12 floor building it luckily wans’t too far up. The elevator was broken, so I had to take the stairs.

Going up the rusty metal stairs, I noticed the rabble of the street that lived here. I hadn’t seen these areas since my youth, having joined Madrigal’s military unit at the age of 18 to get out of these slums and then being given a suite in the upper north side of the city that he had called home the past year. There were prostitutes standing next to open doors, calling to anyone who crossed their path.

“Hey honey,” said one looking straight at me. She looked at me with glossed over eyes, she obviously didn’t have optics. She was covered in chrome on her body, you couldn’t tell what her age was but I wouldn’t have been interested anyway. I hadn’t had sex since losing my cock in an explosion. I was given testosterone implants to keep me going but my sex drive had been all depleted and I din’t really mind. I nodded at the prostitute and kept climbing.

I reached the 4th floor quite quickly. It was very high up but nothing compared to the full scale of the building. I walked across the balconey until I found the room. I knocked three times. I heard whispering and movement inside. The door opened a crack and one red optic peeked through.

“Who the hell are you?” asked the red eye aggressively.

“I’m here to deliver a package for Blake,” I said in the same aggressive tone.

The door shut and there was more whispering. Then the door opened and two men grabbed me, throwing me into the center of the room. Three men stood in different corners of the room, all had their pistols drawn. The two who had pulled me into the room drew their pistols as well.

“I’m Blake,” said one of the men who had pulled me inside. I could see now that one of his eyes was a regular eye and the other was one of Madrigal’s basic tactical optics. He must have found it on the market, or taken it from a body. It looked like it had been implanted wrong. He needed to get a new surgeon.

“Blake,” I said calmly, arms raised. “This is for you.”

Blake looked at it confusedly. “It’s from Neon Street.”

Recognition dawned on the man’s half bionic face. “Bring is to me,” he pushed the man on his left towards me.

The man took the package and brought it to Blake. “I’ve been waiting for that shithead to give me my money.”

Blake opened the case and looked down at a single qin chip. He smiled and picked it up, beckoning to a man standing behind me. The man holstered his weapon and approached, he had two yellow optics that flashed and buzzed for a moment, grabbing the chip he studied it. “It’s clean,” he said, handing it back to Blake.

Blake smiled and looked at me and as he was sliding the chip into a port behind his ear he muttered. “Kill him.”

I fell flat on the ground as the men began shooting. Rolling to my stomach, I set my palms against the floor and pushed up, my arm tech firing hard. I launched quickly back onto my feet and, before they could react, I was on the man who had studied the qin chip. I clapped my hands onto the man’s ears, his head crushing like an aluminum can. His optics bounced out and dangled from the crushed skull.

I turned and ducked just as a bullet ripped above my head, blowing the crushed head off the dead man in front of me. I spun around, pivoting on my left foot. The man who shot wasn’t near me so I planted my right foot and lunged toward him. My body slammed into his chest, crushing the man’s heart and sending gore splattering against the back wall. The man’s upper torso fell behind him limply, his feet still standing for a moment before falling.

Another shot rang out, this time from the other side of the room. This one was smart, he had found cover behind a dirty green sofa by the window. He ducked behind as I lunged again, going straight through the couch sending it splintering around the room. The man had dropped his gun and scrambled to grab it as my foot came down on his back. His spine not only cracked, but my foot drove straight through like a bullet, punching a hole through his abdomen.

I turned to the door, expecting to see Blake with a gun in his hand. What I saw surprised me. Blake lay on the floor, twitching and spasming. The port behind his ear suddenly caught fire and the red optic of his eye dimmed, as his body flopped like a fish. His body did that for a few minutes until it finally stopped, smoke rose from Blake’s ears and nose. He was dead.

I looked around at the carnage and chaos, I had to leave soon. Someone definitely would have heard the noise and Peace Enforcement would, no doubt, be here soon. I looked at the bodies around me. I plucked the optics of the headless man from the floor and pocketed them. I grabbed all the pistols and removed the neurochips from all of the men except for the one without a head.

I heard sirens outside but, before leaving, I one of the rooms. Flipping the mattress, I found a huge stash of various kinds of stim. I smiled and grabbed a duffel bag from the corner, filling it to the brim with the drugs. I heard a pounding on the door and someone yelling. I looked around for a place to go, there was a small window that I never could have fit through. I knew there was only one way out, I breathed deeply as I readied myself for a lunge.

Looking to the wall, I lunged, breaking through the thick brick exterior and out into the afternoon air. I was falling and I had to find something to slow me down. I flipped and put my arms and legs into the outside of the housing complex. My bionic feet and hands dug into the concrete outer wall as I slowly came to a stop.

I jumped down and ran. I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t notice until I returned to Neon Street, that one of my shoulders was dangling and the soles of my feet and palms of my hands had worn down and were severely dented. I stopped and breathed as the adrenalin and stims began to wear off. The pain hit me and I collapsed. I began to lose consciousness. A figure hovered over me and said, “Hell of a job, jack. Hell of a job.”

Then, everything went black.

Confessions of a Cannabis Addict

I am addicted to smoking weed. I’ve been smoking since high school. Ever since that first high, I have been all about it. It really became a staple of my personality in my transformative days of mid to late teenage years. The drug culture really enthralled me. I loved psychedelics and I loved being out of my mind. I would say I was out of my regular mind, although even saying that makes me defensive.

Goddamn, this is already super hard to write about. I didn’t think it would be so hard. My focus for the next little bit is about getting myself back on track. I was doing well for a while but I came back to weed. I think I really am being asked to take a look at this part of myself and really take care of it.

Weed is not good for me, not at all. It was great for a while but it hasn’t really done much but bring me down the last few years. It is often the seat of my anxiety and fear, it really brings those things out in me. It allows for a larger range to my mental and emotional radio, so it can help with creative thinking, but it brings me down farther and puts me into the purely creative mindset, there is no craftsman mindset. It takes at least 3 or 4 days for the craftsman mindset to be back.

The longest I’ve gone without pot is about 6 months. It’s usually just because I don’t buy it and I don’t hang out with my friends who smoke it. But whenever I am offered a hit, I never say no. That’s a huge problem with me. Out of sight, out of mind as people say. When I don’t see weed, I am okay not wanting it. A craving always hits me though, when someone talks about smoking or I see someone smoking, or my past revisits me in a memory or wayward thought.

My wife utilizes smoking right now in our relationship because she suffers from postpartum disorder and has some pain. She has much mroe control over it than I do; she doesn’t feel that urge to smoke at all times. It would be easier to stop if she wasn’t smoking but I know that would just be the whole “out of sight, out of mind” thing. I need to face this addiction head on like I have with my other addictions. This is real willpower and control: when I can see it but it still doesn’t phase me too much.

The past few weeks I have been saying to myself, “This is the last day, this is it. After smoking today, I’m done for good.”

That lasts until about the next day, sometimes I can make it a week but that’s because I work and that takes up most of my time. I’m determined to make it, though. I know I can do it, I’ve stopped for long periods before and I always feel amazing! I feel clear headed, charasmatic; I feel like a good father and that I can get things done! I feel like my relationships with everyone are much better; I have more energy and fire! Quitting is definitely to my benefit.

I just find it hard when I see it being done around me! That should be okay though, my wife doesn’t have the same issues as I do and I don’t want to force her to stop something that is helping her. This will be an excercise of will, which is definitely something I need to practice. Willpower is what I need to learn in this situation, this is a lesson that I often cycle through. I want to reach new levels of understanding and clarity. I truly think that quitting drugs all together will be so good for me.

I’ll fill in more as time goes on!

“A Good Job…”

Pete was excited. Tomorrow, he was going to start a job, a very good job. He had just finished getting his degree and was excited to put it to good use!

“I need to get a good night’s sleep tonight, Sweetheart,” he told his pregnant wife. “Tomorrow starts my career! We’ll be set! Finally, we’ve done it.”

Pete went to his room and fell fast asleep. He dreamt of the exciting and groundbreaking work he would be apart of the next day. He woke several times in the night to check the time. He was so ready. His entire family was so proud, his mother had bragged ot all her friends about him and his father had actually told him he loved him. Pete had finally made it!

The next day, Pete hurriedly grabbed his jacket and temporary security badge. He would need to get a fulltime badge to gain access to his computer and the various places he would need to go. There were strict security rules in place that he had done the required training for in the months before starting. He had been in online training for all the securtity and safety measures in place at the facility. He had been preparing for the past month and was antsy to get started.

When he arrived at the facility, he rang the bell for the front desk guards to let him in. They welcomed him in, ignoring his chipper “good morning.” They called his manager from the desk and a short, hairy armed bald man came speed walking from one of the various hallways. His shoes squeeked on the tile of the foyer as he approached Pete, holding out his hand for a vigorous and violent handshake that shook his entire arm.

“Good morning, Peter,” the hairy bald man said. “I’m Harry Boldman. Are you ready for your first day on the team?” The man with the strangely fitting last name smiled, bright green braces showing under his thin and dry lips. His coffee breath was real.

Pete shifted and smiled back, “Good morning, Harry. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m ready when you are!”

Pete tried to keep up as the bald man swiftly walked into the hallway he had appeared out of. They entered a labarynth of cubicles with areas moving this way and that. Harry walked swiftly and turned corners abruptly, right then left then left then right. So many twists and turns that Pete almost got lost.

Finally, the short bald man stopped in a small clearing of plain, white cubicles. Four desks sat in the clear, one in the far right corner, one in the far left, one on the right corner closest to him, and the last directly in front of him, closest to the left wall. Three of the desks were manned. A young blonde woman sat in the desk to the far left, a skinny and greasy looking teenager sat to the far right, and a large hulk of a man sat in the desk to his immediate right. All were busy working and staring at their screens.

“Team,” said Harry Boldman, clasping his hands and rocking back on his heels. “This is Peter. Please welcome him, he’ll be taking over for Janice.”

The three people stood up and approached Pete. Each of extended hands and welcomed him. The teenager averted his eyes and introduced himself in a quiet mumble that Pete could barely understand. The young man’s name was Jim and he had been an intern here for just over a year. Jim did a small bow and quickly sat back down in his seat, returning to work. The woman was named Heather and she had a dog named Rufus and was recently divorced. She spoke too much on this subject, making Peter feel pretty uncomfortable although he didn’t show it. The large man was named Larry and everytime he spoke, he let out a soft burp into his closed fist and a small “excuse me” before returning to his introduction.

“We’re so happy you’re here, Peter,” said Harry after everyone introduced themselves. He motioned towards the desk closest to them. “This is your desk, please get aquainted with everything and make yourself at home! But not too much at home, this is work after all.”

Harry winked as he turned to leave the tiny clearing within the maze of cubicles.

“Oh, Harry,” Pete spoke up before his boss disappeared behind the cubicle wall. “What should I be doing, exactly?”

Harry laughed. “I believe Janice was supposed to leave you a booklet of your duties here. Good luck!”

As Harry disappeared back into the mess of cubicles, Pete turned to his new baren desk, and set out some of his things. He had a Dan Marino bobblehead and a small picture of his wife. He took out the folded image of the ultrasound his wife had brought home when she found out they were pregnant. He still had no idea what the gender of the baby would be but they would find out in a few weeks from now.

Pete looked around and saw everyone focused on there work, some with headphones in and others just staring. Everyone seemed somewhere else. Pete looked at his own computer screen as he reached under the desk to hit the power button on the computer tower. As it booted up, he put an earbud in and shuffled his music Black Sabbath began to play at a respectable volume.

Looking around the desk for any hint of what Janice used to do was unfruitful. So, still searching, he began opening the various drawers at his workplace. Nothing in any of them, that is, until he opened a very thin drawer where a keyboard sat for his computer. Underneath the keyboard was a manila packet. Picking it up, Pete pulled the contents out and onto his desk. IT was a single piece of 8.5x11 white paper. In small lettering in the upper left corner of the paper was a list. It read:

1. Sharpen a pencil

2. Turn off your monitor

3. Grab a blank sheet of printer paper from across the hall

4. Sit back down, back straight, both feet flat on the floor

5. Close your eyes

6. Open your eyes

7. Draw yourself from memory

8. Turn on your monitor

9. Look up your picture in the company directory 

10. Compare your work

11. Repeat until 5 PM

Pete looked up from the paper with a look of disbelief. This is the job he had spent 6 years of school preparing for? He had a master’s degree in computer science and this is what he’d be doing? Pete looked around at his other coworkers, confused. They all sat still staring at their monitors and clacking away on their keyboards.

He sighed and paused his music. Pulling up the work directory, he found Harry Boldman’s information quite quickly. Reaching over and pulling his desk’s landline close, he dialed the number on his screen. A click sounded and Harry’s voice came through. “This is Harry.”

“Hi Harry, this is Pete Robinson, your most recent new hire.”

“Oh, hey Peter. Trouble already, huh,” Harry giggled.

“I guess you could say that,” Pete huffed. “What did you say Janice did again?”

“I, in all honesty Pete, haven’t a clue. She was here before my time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Janice has worked on this team since ‘86. I only started in ‘98 and, even then, my manager had now idea either,” there was a silence on the other end of the phone before Harry spoke again. “Were you able to find her instructions?”

“I was,” said Pete, beginning to panic a bit. “But they don’t make a ton of sense…”

“Just follow them as best as you can, Peter,” Harry interrupted. “I’ll get you more information. In the meantime, perhaps one of your coworkers knows what Janice did?”

Pete sighed. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Harry’s jovial tone returning. “Call me with any trouble.”

“Thanks, Harry. Talk to you later.”

The phone clicked and Pete hung the phone up. He looked up to see all his coworkers staring.

“Anybody know what Janice used to do?” Pete laughed dryly.

There was a long silence. They all shook there heads and shrugged their shoulders almost in synch. Then, they returned to work.

Pete shook his head and looked down at his desk. He decided to just do what was written on the paper and get it over with. That day, Pete drew 15 pictures of himself. The first one was very detailed, but began to get sloppy by the end of the work day.

“It’s 5, Pete,” said Heather. “Work time’s over! Thank God. This is Hell, am I right?” Heather laughed and winked. Pete laughed apprehensively with a fake smile.

They put their coats on and Pete followed Heather out of the grey and white labarynth until they found themselves in the foyer again.

“Have a good one,” Heather said, waving as she walked out the front door.

When Pete got home, he fell onto the couch. His eyes burned and his hands hurt from drawing all day. He closed his eyes as his wife came into the living room.

“How was the big first day,” Pete’s wife asked.

“It was… very strange,” Pete sat up and patted the seat next to him. Pete’s wife came to his side and sat down with him.

“I did nothing today,” Pete spoke slowly. “I drew pictures of my own face for almost 10 hours.”

Pete’s wife looked shocked. “Drew pictures of your face? What?’

“You heard me,” Pete said shaking his head. “I drew pictures of my own face. I drew a picture and then compared how it looked to my actual photograph, then I drew another. I guess I’m trying to get it perfect?”

Pete’s wife sat and thought for a moment. She turned to him. “What if they’re doing this for some kind of facial recognition software or something?” She looked hopeful.

“If it is,” sighed Pete. “It’s a very unorthodox and strange way of doing it. I don’t see how this could help at all.”

“Well, maybe there’s more to it than is being let on,” his wife said. Pete knew she was just trying to make him feel better. He leaned over and kissed her.

“Maybe you’re right, my love,” Pete smiled. “I’ll just keep going until I find something out.”

_____________

Over the next few months, Pete worked on the same thing everyday. His first few drawings were always very good. They never totally matched, though and he felt frustrated by this. As he kept going throughout the day, the drawings would get worse and worse as his energy was expelled. The worst part was, Pete still had no idea how to get out of the maze of cubicles and hallways. He knew how to get to the bathroom and the storage closet, they were across the hall and right next to eachother. To leave everyday, he had to follow one of his coworkers out. He did the same in the morning.

When he would get home, he’d fall into the couch. He had no energy to even talk to his wife anymore, their relationship began to wane. The weekends didn’t help much, they would spend time together but Pete was still so drained. He’d recover by Sunday afternoon but then would need to go back the next day. He started to drink a lot on the weekends to forget the misery of work.

On Monday, when Pete returned to work he was hungover. His head throbbed and his stomach was flipping. He stood by the entry hallway to the cubicle and waited for one of his coworkers. As he was standing there, Harry appeared from the front door and crossed the foyer smiling.

“Morning, Peter,” he spoke in his regular chipper tone. “Happy Monday! What are you waiting for? Let’s get to work!”

Harry clapped Pete on the back and they walked together to the small clearing within the mess of cubicles. When they got to the clearing. Pete was the only one in. He looked around. “Where is everyone, Harry?”

“Today is your special day Pete,” said Harry. “You’re getting a promotion! We gave the rest of the team the day off.”

Harry motioned for Pete to sit. Pete did as he was asked and Harry went to the far wall and pulled down a projector screen. The lights in the cubicle clearing dimmed and a video began to play. Large black numbers began to count down from 10. As the numbers counted down closer to one, an ominous feeling took over Pete and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was as if a dark electricity had taken over the clearing. When the video got to 1, the screen froze.

_____________

Pete woke up, sweating and lying on the floor. It was extremely cold. He looked around, a haze was everywhere. A voice called from somewhere.

“Peter…” it was raspy and dark. “You have served well in this company. But we require more from you. Please wait here while Janice prepares to fill you in on your next task…”

Pete sat up, his mind buzzing. What time was it? How long had he been out? He thought about his wife and unborn child. He had to get back to them. The lights above him went out. There was no light but the lights of the dim monitors on the desks. The haze swirled around him and, from the dark maze of cubicles he saw a form, creeping in like a shadow. It made no sound.

Without thinking, Pete crawled to his desk and curled up underneath it. He shivered and prayed under his breath that he would be safe.

“Your prayers don’t belong here, Peter,” the raspy voice sounded from inside the cubicle. “This is a workplace, not a church. You must give yourself to us.”

Pete thought about work and his mind began to bog down. He felt tired.

“Yessss…” the voice rasped, making a sickening slurping noise. “Your energy, Peter… your energy is what we need. Give us the rest of it, Peter. We are so hungry… Janice served us for years, tirelessly, now she lives in Miami and owns a jet ski… she lives a full life… she regularly goes on cruises and has been all over the world… serve us… like she did… you too can have all these things and more… just give us your young lifeforce and you can have it all…”

Pete was disgusted. He leaped up from under the desk and bolted for the entrance, yelling as he fled. “All I need is my family!”

Bursting out into the maze, Pete ran and huffed. Whatever the creature was that had slunk quietly into the cubicle was now not so quiet. He could here is footfalls behind him. Light and catlike, they were right behind him. He could hear its raspy breathing right on his neck. Pete wanted to look back but forced himself to keep running. Thoughts of his family and his baby girl flooded his mind. He focused and kept running.

Turning a corner, he found himself at a dead end. The darkness seemed to close in on him as he turned around to try to go back. The figure was there now, in front of him. What he saw sickened him. It was his face but something was off. He looked closer and was disturbed by what he saw. Before him was a thin, wrinkled and hunched over body it had long sharo nails and feet like talons. IT’s face though, it was his face, it was his drawings he had done. It was close to his face but disturbingly different.

“What the hell are you?” Pete screamed.

“I want to be like you, Peter. You feed me, you are my father, Peter. We want your energy… we need to feed the company, Peter… Forget your life… feed me, nourish me… you will be rewarded…” the creature’s face contorted into a disgusting smile. It held out it’s clawed, wrinkled hand.

“Fuck you,” Pete yelled at it. “You won’t take me from my family!”

“If you really cared about your family, you would support them with a good job,” the creature sneered. “If you won’t come with me… then I will have to consume you by force…”

The creature lunged at Pete. He saw this move coming and grabbed the top of the cubicle and jumped, trying to climb it. The creature grabbed his foot and pulled him, taking off Pete’s shoe. Pete clambered over the top of the cubicle and bolted down the hallway. He found another dead end but, instead of stopping, he plowed straight through it. The cubicle walls toppled like dominoes, each one falling onto the other. He saw the exit and he ran for it.

Emerging into the foyer, it was day. He was sweating and shaking, one of his shoes was missing.

“Peter!”

He turned as sombody called his name. It was Harry. He came out of the cubicle maze, which was no longer submersed in darkness. Looking back, shocked, Pete saw that nothing had changed. The cubicle walls were up and everything was just the way it was before.

“Peter,” Harry smiled. “Your lunch break isn’t for another 2 hours! We need you back at your desk, buddy.”

Pete spit on the floor and looked Harry in the eye. “I quit,” Pete said. “And my name is Pete.”

As Pete left the building, he smiled. The sun shone down and he felt like a new man. He couldn’t wait to go home to his family.

The Tragedy of Jorge Garcia

Jorge Garcia sat quietly in his room, staring forlorn into the far corner. Why was he here? Tears streamed down his recently shaven face. The day looked nothing like he had expected this morning. The 9mm felt heavy in his trembling hand. He glanced to the prone figure of his exgirlfriend, her 8 year old son crying over the body as blood seeped into the dirty shag carpet. How had this happened? He trembled, thinking about the events that had led him to this moment.

Jorge was born in Mexico City in 1988 to a hardworking father and a superstitious mother. Materially, his family had everything they could want but Jorge’s father, Jorge Senior, was a drunk and would often spend all the money he made on gambling, drugs and alcohol. Everyday, when Jorge heard the door to his small home open, he would run to his room. His mother would urge him to hide. Jorge Senior would come in, drunk and angry for losing so much money at the casino.

Jorge ran into his room and plugged his ears. He knew what would happen, it happened everyday. Jorge plugged his ears as he heard his father yell some slur and push his mother down forcing himself onto her. The boy could hear her muffled screams and cries to stop. Jorge would cry and curl into a ball.

His father would then call him out for dinner. When Jorge came out, the brutal drunk would ask him about his day and try to talk to his son. Scared and shaking from the violence that just occurred, Jorge would avert his gaze and speak in short, quiet sentences. His father would get aggravated and grab him, calling him names and smacking his ear until blood ran down the boy’s neck. To this day, Jorge cannot hear out of his left ear.

After the beating, Jorge would be forced to finish his food, choking back tears. He would walk, slumped over, to his room and sit in the corner. He dreamt about leaving this place, going far away. People around town would talk about the United States and the money and opportunity there. Jorge wanted to go there badly. And go there he would.

Late in the night, Jorge Senior would get even more drunk and would come into his son’s room. He would force Jorge to touch him and, not wanting another beating, Jorge would. This was the most degrading thing ever to happen to the boy. This was something he would never talk about until the day he died.

——————-

At 18, Jorge packed his things and kissed his mother goodbye. His father had long since gone missing. It was well known that the man had racked up a serious gambling debt. Jorge and his mother had been very happy when the drunk had not returned home. Jorge had felt freedom for the first time in his life.

Jorge got out of the coyote’s van and felt the hot Texas heat. He breathed in the air of this barren place and felt excitement for where life was headed for him. He found a job with a construction company just outside of Austin and began his life. He was happy for, it seemed, the first time in his life.

Jorge first found out he was gay when he met Tanner. They had gone on a trip to Dallas to work on a parking garage. One day after work, they got drunk in the hotel lobby bar. They kissed and that was that. This was new to Jorge and when the two men woke up for work the next day, Tanner pretended it never happened and shunned Jorge. Jorge felt like a child again.

——————-

A few years later, Jorge decided to move to Boise, Idaho. A job opportunity had come up and he was excited about the chance to have new scenery and a fresh feeling. He had learned English really well and could write and read. He had taught himself by watching Spanish movies with English subtitles turned on. This job came with a pay increase and he had heard stories about the beauty and clean air in Idaho.

When he arrived, he wasn’t disappointed. The purple mountains and green forests he saw there were breathtaking. The land was beautiful and he felt like a new man. He was going to put this gay stuff behind him and find an American wife to give him American babies. He always wanted a family but was determined to never become like his father.

Jorge signed up for an internet dating site and met a woman there. They spoke a lot. He found out soon after that she was currently married. He thought it was wrong, but burried the feeling. This woman wanted him and he wanted citizenship for himself and any children he might have. The woman left her husband and they got married a few weeks after.

This woman had a friendly and happy 6 years old son. He was a creative child and always quick to help around the house. He was apprehensive about accepting Jorge into his life and didn’t like that he couldn’t see his father anymore. He had loved his father. His mother had told him to refer to Jorge as “dad.” This was his new father, it seemed.

Jorge’s wife became pregnant with a baby girl. They were all excited. Over the years, Jorge and his wife would argue and fight. They drank too much and got into drugs. Jorge would drink to cover his disgusted feelings about the woman and the woman would drink to forget about the pain and trouble she had caused so many in her life. The boy would stay in his room and hide.

Jorge grew angry and resentful of the boy and his mother. He hated that the boy left toys on the ground and he hated that his wife would disrespect Jorge in his own house. One night, he got incredibly drunk and smacked his pregnant wife. She fell onto the couch. The boy came out to her defense and he hit that boy so many times in the ribs, the boy was bruised for weeks. Teachers at school would never see those bruises under the small , hand-me-down shirts the boy wore.

Jorge got onto dating sites again. He was tired of this woman and he was tired of women in general. Jorge had been going to gay bars for years, having one night stands and quickies in bathrooms. Jorge met Darius on this dating site. They chatted for a long time. Darius came over one day, while Jorge’s wife was out for an appointment with the doctor.

The two men made love and as they sat in bed holding each other and smoking cigarettes, Jorge’s pregnant wife burst in. She yelled at Jorge, screaming slurs and spitting at him. Darius ran out driving away quickly and not looking back. Jorge stood up, yelling. He punched his wife in the jaw. She stumbled then yelled and said she was calling the police. She was leaving him and she would take everything he had, leaving him penniless and starving.

Without thinking, Jorge opened his nightstand and drew the 9mm pistol. He fired 5 shots and pregnant his wife fell to the floor, face first. The young boy had been in his room playing with toys when he heard the commotion. He ran into the room and shrieked, running to his fallen mother. He nudged her and tried to wake her up, not even noticing the gun wielding man sitting on the bed.

Jorge looked in horror at what he had done. He just sat and stared. He thought of his father. He thought about how he had gotten to be this way. Jorge had become exactly like the man he hated without even noticing. Sirens sounded outside, the gunshots must have alerted the neighbors. Tears began streaming down his face. He didn’t move, he thought about bringing the gun to his head but couldn’t lift his arm; he was scared. He felt like a boy again. He felt like that boy, shaking in the corner of his room, scared and alone.

Jorge figured he had been doomed from the beginning. He had been cursed by his father and made to live a life like this. He couldn’t rise above the station created for him. He dropped the gun and curled up in a ball, naked and sobbing like he used to when his father came home. He blacked out as the police carted him off.

The Journey Chapter 1

I was raised in a small town in Idaho, big for Idaho standards but small everywhere else. My family was very good. I had a happy childhood and a beautiful home. My father had a good job and a college education. It was a good childhood, all in all. There were, of course, minor hiccups here and there but those weren’t enough to change the energy of that time.

My father was a good man who never hesitated to help a person in need. My mother was a kind and outgoing person that loved to hug people. There were 5 children in the family includig myself. We were all close and remain close to this day. I was very fortunate to have grown up in such a stable and good home.

For generations my family had been devout followers of the LDS religion. My family was no exception. We went to church every Sunday and we never consumed caffeine, alcohol or any other drugs besides what a doctor might perscribe. Things were quite strict in the areas surrounding religion and social beliefs. Talking with many people after leaving the church, it’s plane to see the cult tactics in place by leaders and members of the church.

Growing up LDS was not that bad for me, honestly. Many people find that the church ruined or damaged them in some way and I can definitely see how that can happen. A few of my family members were traumatized greatly within the church. I left the religion when I was 18, the age that men are urged to serve a Mormon mission in a far away state or country. I definitely felt the pressure, but there was no way I was doing that. I had read criticisms of the church recently and I knew this wasn’t something I wanted ot be apart of.

I drifted away from religion for a time and lost faith completely in the meaning of life. Richard Dawkins and evolution became my knew religion. I enjoyed watching videos of the devout being thrashed by athiests. It was fun for me. Losing all sense of hope or faith, I went to a very dark place. My imagination dimmed and I moved away from creative efforts and into more “realistic” pursuits.

I attended Idaho State University studying computer science, a field I was highly pressured to fall into by my father and brothers. I had always wanted to be a writer which wasn’t a job anyone in my family took seriously. So wanting to impress the male figures in my life, I, with full force, began to shape my future into what I thought they might approve of. And approve they did, I would constantly get compliments or they would tell me how they brag about me to others. They were so proud and that pride was bitter sweet for a dreamer like myself.

I achieved an internship at a local nuclear lab the summer before my freshman year of college. This internship had great promise. Run and funded by the United States Department of Energy, this internship more than promised me a future full of money and social success. It was paid with room for growth and an opportunity to work there after graduation. This way of life was great for a time but it quckly turned boring and soul killing.

In the winter break after my first semester, my friend from high school came to town. He was going to Boise State University and was having a great time. I had initially wanted to go with him, but my father convinced me that it wasn’t worth the debt to live away from home. My friend and I got to talking and we landed on the topic of LSD. We both wanted to try it, we’d never done anything like that before! So when we finally found someone to sell it to us, we jumped at the opportunity.

Taking psychedelics for the first time was a harsh experience for me. I was against the thought and notion that there was anything greater than myself. My first trip was, well, a trip. I fought it so hard. I couldn’t love it, I couldn’t go with it and let go. This spiraled me down a rabbit hole that would forever change the course of my life.

I attempted suicide for the first time in the fall of 2018. Attempting to overdose on pills, a goodbye text to an exgirlfriend saved my life. In the behavior health unit, I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1. This was hard news to hear, I had heard of this disorder and didn’t want to be labeled as “crazy” by others or myself. I rejected the diagnosis, much to the shagrin of myself and my loved ones. In the progression of the famous “Hero’s Journey”, this would be the point where the hero crosses the threshold and begins his journey.

The next few years were tumultuous. I dropped out of college completely and lost my internship, choosing instead the uncertain life of a writer, something I had longed and dreamt for since I was a boy. I sought experience and the true fear and beauty of life, something I had not been permitted as a devout Mormon. I was excited and jumped into this new chapter of my life without caution.

I began working as a mortgage clerk. The job was simple, I would sit in a cubicle and skim through mortgages and find any typos or mistakes. It was while working here that I met one of my best friends in this life. I met him while buying a cannabis vape pen, which I bought from him actually. We hit it off immediately; he was one of those people that you feel you’ve known your entire life. We got on the topic of LSD one day and I ended up buying some and dropping acid once again.

This time, I let go and let everything take over. I made music, wrote, played! This experience was nothing like the first time. It was incredible. I began taking more and more and doing it more and more often. My friend and I would trip and smoke packs and packs of Camel Turkish Royals. The experience made my spirituality grow tremendously and I began to understand that life is much more complex than anyone could ever know. For the first time in my life, I felt absolutely free.

But, as Common says at the end of Kid Cudi’s “Simple As…”:

“This is the rise of the night terrors…”