These People That I See

            These people that I see, I’m beginning to think that I don’t really see them, you see?  They just don’t act like they are able to be seen by anyone else, and everyone else acts as though they can’t see the people, so all I have is the assumption that the things I think are there really are nowhere.

            Some things come from nowhere, though, don’t they?  I hear about them every once in a while. Like ‘That car came out of nowhere and just hit me!’, or ‘Then Jake came out of nowhere and spooked the shit out of those little kids!’.  In either case, something came from nowhere, which seems impossible if you don’t think about it too much, but then it has to be somewhere, right?

            It’s like the number zero.  Most people would say that 0 is a number, but it has no value. It’s the physical manifestation of nothing, making nothing into something.  If you have 0 apples, then you have no apples, but you also don’t owe anyone apples, like if you had -2 apples, and being bereft of apples is definitely considered by everyone that isn’t a pecan tree to be its own sovereign state of being.

            With this in mind, perhaps the people that I see are truly there, only in the respect that they are not there in most ways other than that they are symbols for nothingness.  What substance do they have? I can’t tell, they won’t really talk to me.  No one else interacts with them, so I can’t get anyone else to verify what I’m seeing, or that they are seeing me.  They look at me, sure, and sometimes they communicate with me nonverbally.  A nod as one man sits down in an ER waiting room, a shaking head of a woman leaning against a window sill at the pharmacy, and they see only me.  What if I am nothing, and yet simultaneously serve as a meeting point between two realities that don’t acknowledge the existence of each other?  In both at the same time, but not wholly in either one?  Who’s to say?  There is nothing here, but what is the nothing? Am I observing it, or am I the nothing being observed?  I’ve asked my hands, they don’t know.  No one else knows, either.  The people on the bus have looked at me enough times for me to know that they think I’m crazy, but which side are they on? Do I even have a side?

Crumbs of Bonuses Under the Table

“So, things like karma don’t really exist?”

            “No… They do, but not in the tangible sense of the word in which you seem so stuck in thinking. To use your example, karma exists in that it is an idea in your head or mind.”

            “Are they not the same thing?”

            “I’ll explain that later. Anyway, this type of existence doesn’t necessarily have to manifest itself in your material world, though it does. You have a word for it, and the concept of it does affect the behavior of some people, so its existence is hard to truly deny. How can something have an effect without existing? It exists in the collective conscious, which acts as a plane of reality all on its own. The act of being happens in layers, and this collective conscious happens to be one of the layers”

            “But is it my layer? The one humans live in?”

            “Ok, maybe that wasn’t the correct phrase to use. Yes, it is its own plane, but each plane of reality has, for lack of a better term, fingers or tendrils reaching out into other planes.”

            “So, do I exist on different planes, or does everything get included into these tendrils?”

            “You’re here, aren’t you? Your connection to one plane just snipped, causing your consciousness to snap back toward other tendrils it had.  It’s difficult to explain exactly how this happens because I can only use words you know, and therefor I’m limited to using concepts familiar to you in order to explain a completely foreign concept.”

Never Lose

            “But… I need my spleen.” Timothy said, rather timidly.  The other kids snickered at his response to their demands; His trepidation would soon yield, they felt.  One of the original accusers, one with those old sunglasses, stepped toward Timothy, out of the crowd.  His name was Blain.

            “See, Timmy, you don’t really need your spleen, we think.  We’re just tryin’ to run a little experiment to see if anyone would notice if we put it in a stew for Mrs. Cabbernackle and gave it to her tomorrow.  What are you, some kinda chicken?” and everyone started flapping their arms, making chicken noises, as was protocol for that remark.

            “But knives hurt, don’t they?  I accidentally cut my finger one time, and it hurt a lot.  It would hurt to stick it into my stomach.”  Why Timothy was gripping the knife harder, he couldn’t quite understand.  He had started out only holding it loosely, but his grip had tightened greatly since the encounter had begun.

            “Yeah, it’ll hurt a little bit.  But spleens are so cool! They don’t do anything, but I saw one in this movie, and looked all gooey and stuff.  We need yours! You have the best spleen! I bet it’s all clean.”  Blain finished his argument by poking Timothy in the stomach a few times.  It didn’t make Timothy feel any better about what was going on, but it helped Blain feel alright. 

            A few kids behind Blain started chanting, “Do it! Do it! Do it!”, and within a few minutes, the whole crowd of children surrounding Timothy had joined in.  Their voices pounded into his head, depriving him of the chance to deny their will openly, and soon eroding away his will to oppose them at all.  After all, if they all wanted this, how could it be wrong?  With a sigh and a grim quasi-smile, he held the knife up for all to see, and drove it into his belly with every ounce of strength he had.  Timothy wanted to finish before he chickened out, but there was so much pain.  The next thing he remembered was waking up in a hospital, and that wasn’t for long.  He had succumbed to the will of others, and they destroyed him.

           

I Didn't Want To

            “They’re your friends, right? I mean, like, you’ve known them for a while?” I asked Ted, trying to ignore the irritating itch on the backs of my hands.  We were standing outside of an apartment doorway, stopping for a quick smoke break before we went inside.  This gave me some time to talk this out to him, so I could know what we were doing here.  We were never really good at planning things.

            “Yeah, dude, they’re cool.  We’re just going to stay here for a few hours, and go from there.” Ted dragged his cigarette like an old man on his oxygen. I think only I got the irony.  “They invited us, remember?  We’d kind of be dickheads if we didn’t show, and I used to live with Kenny.  It’s just chill, you know?”

            I finished off my cigarette, nodded, and we headed in.  During the introductions, I noticed Ted had kept his smoke in his hand.  Apparently, it was ok to smoke in this house, why hadn’t he just said so?  I brushed that aside in my mind as I shook people’s hands and held up my end of the introductions.  Such a good little drone I was being.  They played the game, too, the one everyone plays.  Smile, try to figure out who you’re talking to, and then find out whether or not you’re going to keep talking to the new shmuck or go back to the people you know.  I usually just make the last decision for them, and excuse myself from the conversation to investigate their furniture.  People don’t mind some dude they don’t know when that dude is sitting on a couch or chair, staring off into space.  I liked it that way, I felt invisible.

            The plan was a bit different this time, though.  I’d added a new element to the game, and no one else knew.  I liked it that way, too.  Tonight was going to be a night that would change these boys’ lives completely, and they had no idea.  I wasn’t cut out to be their kind of drone, but a different one.  I sat and waited as they drank, watched tv, and collected more friends in their disgusting little apartment.  No one bothered me, I think Ted even forgot I was there. He never knew me that well in the first place.  Still, it couldn’t hurt to spare him. 

            When everyone was good and buzzed, I got up and fished $20 out of my wallet.  I gave that to Ted, and sent him on a beer run.  He didn’t need to see this.  Poor dumbass should have noticed that smoke runs out of my hands as well as my mouth when I have a cig with him, but no. Little shit like that never got caught, which is was allowed me to live among them so easily.  I gave everyone 62 seconds once Ted had left the building, and then gave them the additional pleasure of introducing them to the stealthy machine guns implanted in my forearms. The barrels extending out of my palms reminded me of those old anime shows they told me about, “Dragon Ball Z”, or something like that.  The first one screamed over the sound of my weapons, but the others got the message when the blood splattered the ceiling.  Then the fun started.

            I rooms full of screaming, frantic young adults. It’s too much like their horror movies to not get caught up in the moment.  A few times,  I caught myself spitting out cheesy things like “Prepare to die!” or “Yippee kai-ay, mother fuckers!”.  There was one time I actually screamed at them to take me to their leader! Thankfully, they never got to do that. They just died, much as the kids here died.  They didn’t take long, didn’t suspect a thing, and didn’t fight back.  I left the place a bloody, shot-up wreck, and walked to the closest Super 8 Motel.  What was one more batch of useless lives expired, when you looked at it objectively?  It meant as much as painting a picket fence in the big scheme of things.

Signs and Signals

            As Randy walked down that drab hallway, the same kind that always seems to be found in every soulless corporate building, he looked for suite # 308.  Those aren’t just my footsteps, he thought to himself. Without warning, Randy spun around as quickly as he could, yet he found no one following him.  With a dejected sigh, Randy turned back around, and started looking for 318 again, or was it 308?  He pulled his wallet out, and checked Dr. Phellance’s card for what seemed like the 30^th time.  “308, should have known.” He said to himself. 

            He found the right room, and cracked the door to see who was inside.  There was only who seemed to be a secretary behind a phone and computer, closed off yet possibly alert to everything at the same time. Secretaries were like that; Randy didn’t know how they did it.  Randy had a hard enough time paying attention to the world around him as it was, he didn’t know how he’d do with two attention sucking electronic devices near his face, but they managed it well enough, didn’t they?  Steeling himself, Randy entered the office and walked up to the secretary.

            “Hello, sir. What can I help you with?”

            “HAH- I mean… I’m here to see Dr. Phellance. My appointment is in a few minutes.”

            I need to not crack in front of her like that, Randy thought to himself. She carried on as if nothing had happened, though.  “You’re Mr. Eidleson?”

            “So far, yes.”

            “Have a seat, and Dr. Phellance will be with you shortly.”

            She was right, Dr. Phellance was short.  At first glance, Randy thought that the doctor was one of Them, but he contained himself long enough to realize he was wrong.  She beckoned him into the inner room, and Randy meekly got up, smoothed his shirt, and followed the doctor in. 

            Without invitation, he sat down on the chair that looked like it wasn’t Dr. Phellance’s.  Psychologists always have those semi-professional looking chairs. They think that’ll catch their clients off guard somehow.  Never seemed to work, though. Without further ado, the session started.

            “Hello, Mr. Eidleson.”

            “Please, call me Randy.”

            “Alright, Randy-“ there were then distinctive sounds of scribbling on a clipboard, “You have quite the interesting file.  Tell me, before this whole incident began, was there anything that seemed strange to you? Any triggers or signs?”

            “Oh yes.” Randy said, a haunted look suddenly inhabiting his eyes. “The signals were everywhere. If I had only paid attention, I could have saved everyone.  I didn’t know, though. Why they paid for my mistake, I don’t know…”

Thanks, Kenny

            “Step right up, and see the shoes!” the street vendor with a shit-eating mustache yelled enthusiastically at the passers by.  “The shoes, ladies and gentlemen, that will turn you into a money making machine! I guarantee it, come ask me why, don’t be shy now.”  His vest and slacks were such an intense yellow that it brought to my mind the most obnoxious twinkie I’ve ever seen.  That was the point, I guess, it definitely grabbed my attention.  I had walked by this guy every other day for the past three and a half months, and not once had I paid him any mind. 

            That day had a unique feel to it, though.  There was just the right combination of bored with life’s shit, an adventurous feeling, and optimism to make it the right day to go up and see what the hell this obnoxious twinkie was talking about.  Rather than stubbornly avoid eye contact and walk right by him, as I had every other time I’d seen him, I walked up to that vendor, shook his hand, and asked him to tell me more.  I thought I would have to feign interest, but to my surprise, it came up naturally.  I found myself incredibly curious about the shoes this man had been trying to sell to the world for months, and I guess he picked up on that.  His response had much more enthusiasm in it than what I would have expected.

            “Thank you, sir! Thank you, thank you!  You won’t regret this foray into the novelties of our world! In fact, I can say with no shade of uncertainty that you will always remember this day as the day that your life finally turned around from the dull, useless life that you used to lead. And how pathetic it was, as you very well know.”  The man’s face and arms were getting more and more animated as he spoke. I didn’t think he could have gotten any more animated than he was before I had talked to him, but he proved me wrong within half a minute.  It was almost disturbing how much this man moved.  He seemed to vibrate in place from sheer excitement. I asked him to go on.

            “Absolutely, absolutely! Now, what we have for you today is our lovely, yet highly controversial, Jew Shoes.  I’m sure you know that Jews are hated throughout the world, but do you know why? It is because the rest of the world is jealous of the astounding success of the Jews!  For centuries, Jews have been more successful in life than almost any other group of people, and their success can be attributed in part to the shoes they wear.  The shoes I bring you today are the same Jew Shoes that they wore when Israel was created by America, and that was a great day for Judaism around the world!  Buy these shoes, and you will be successful, I guarantee it!  Your friends will hate you, your neighbors will most assuredly try to kill you, but you will rise above them all, and become the object of finger pointing for numerous global conspiracies because of the massive amount of wealth and influence you will accumulate in a conspicuously short amount of time and effort!  The secrets of how to get anywhere in the world are known only to Jews, as their Torah contains knowledge of the inner workings of the universe –on a quantum level, no less- that only they can read or understand because they are the only ones that dare to wear these shoes! The only step left is for you to seize this glorious opportunity, unlike the rest of these poor, ignorant peasants you see walking by us.”

            I nodded, and thought to myself for a minute.  That was a lot for one person to say without any prompting. Had he memorized that entire monologue? Had he even stopped once for breathe?  I couldn’t remember him breathing in at all during that whole pitch.  He claimed to know about the universe, yet I had a trick that I thought he wouldn’t know.  If shoes were equivalent to power, Mr. Bill Gates would own a shoe company.  Since he didn’t, I could easily deduce that this man was spewing a fountain of gilded bullshit.  Time to show him my knowledge of the inner workings of the universe, then. 

            “Ok, I’m in.  I don’t have any money on me at the moment, though. Mind if I drop by the store across the street, so that I may get some method of compensation for you and your time?” I asked him, hoping he’d take the bait.  What salesman could resist the chance of a sale, anyway?

            “Oh, that’s quite alright. I’ll sit here, you know where I’ll be. Just be sure to come back, or you’ll miss out on the best enhancement of your life!” He said, flourishing a shoe box at my face.

            With a poorly suppressed smirk, I turned away and walked over to the Wal-Mart on the other side of the street.  They were the only store I knew of that sold orange hoodies without any zippers, which surprised me when I found the power those specific hoodies held.  Why hadn’t anyone else tapped this incredible power?  I bought one ($15 is a small price to pay for power no one but Trey Parker understands), and returned to the twinkie-ish vendor.

            “I have money now, but I also want to give you this hoodie as a token of my appreciation for your patience and acumen. Never before have I known anyone to study the universe as well as you, please accept my offer.” I said as I extended the hoodie toward him.

            “Thank you, sir! I’ve never known anyone to offer clothes for shoes, but this is perfectly acceptable!  I treasure the novelty of such an occurrence, thank you!”  He took my money and the hoodie, while I took the bullshit shoes with a smile.  I walked past him for a few seconds, then turned around and watched.  He had donned the hoodie already, who could resist such an eye-catching garment?  As he returned to his daily routine of shouting at passers by to buy his line of shit, a Fedex truck swerved drunkenly across the road, ran up the sidewalk, and crushed him to death.  Seeing my success, I smiled and threw the shoes away in the closest trash can.

            Jew shoes, indeed.

The Neighbors

            Midgets in camouflage arrived at the house by car that morning.  They wandered in and out of the house for a few hours, with no apparent goal. At one point, Siamese twins came to the house, and brought their Chinese dragon costume into the house. Once the dragon and the Siamese twins were inside, the midgets filed into the house one at a time, and the place was quiet for most of the rest of the day. At around 7:34 p.m., there was a thunderous crash from the house, and everyone ran out of it with hot dogs and rum.  Soon, they had found a grill from God knows where, turned it on, and the smell of burning hot dogs soon permeated the entire neighborhood. 

            When they opened up the rum, things got really crazy.  The little bastards took most of the trash cans on their street, and used them for midget gymnastics and racing down the street in the trash cans themselves.  The cops were called at least once, but they weren’t any help. They just got out of their cars, took some rum, and laughed their ways back into their cars.  One of the Siamese twins found a box of fireworks, and all hell broke loose.  Both of the twins lit and shot Roman candles all over the place, singeing some trash cans and scaring some of the midgets back into the house.  Then, a two of the midgets picked up some fire works and fought back.  One midget got on another one’s back, to get a higher vantage point from which to fire the fire works.  Thankfully, everyone passed out by 2:00 am, and peace was restored to the neighborhood.

            At least, that’s what the neighbors saw. What I saw was the best family reunion I’ve ever been to!