US


We're inflated out of lies, it could have been truth ...
I have so few memories about what happened last night. Blurred images, faces twisted beyond recognition.
You want the truth, I'll tell you the truth.
There was none.
Everyone can have perceptual errors. The world sort of dims. Gets hazy. It’s like a waking dream, almost.
No, more like waking from deep slumber. Afterlife.
Faced with such situations people concentrate on the world around them. They have another option.
You can do what I did. Shut everything out. Clean slate, clear conscience.

Look for me under the stone,
Seek for me when you are alone,
Come to me when you're home ...

It all started very normally. Oddly enough though.
It was a dream, which was what it was. This is what I choose to believe.
She was there too. Short hair, the works.
The lamp post. Opaque light, seeing was like wading through a sea of molasses. I chose not to. Why was she there? What had brought us together? Fate, Karma, God, Sun Yat Sen, I really don't know.
Hanging over the precipice, I was awaiting the fall.
A quick clean blow always does the job.

Time mayn't be right,
Though you almost gave me a fright,
Look for me when the stars are bright,
I'll come to you when it’s all light...

Ever been blinded by neon lights or at a disc, found you can see or hear nothing.
A subhuman ritual, that's what it is. Your senses function but you get no sense out of the world.
At times like these there is no you. There is a single entity of masses, swaying to peculiar chants as one. Gyrating, the orgy of bliss.
That's what happens when a thousand strong crowd goes berserk. Reason could be anything, religion, tyranny, communism, socialism, Nazism, environmentism, peace, war.
Even worse.
Nothing.
Like the many headed Hydra. Chop a head, two more grow.
The mob is an organism, capable of its own existence, to the destruction of everything else.
Probably it is the acme of human evolution. Survival of the fittest.
She died in my arms and I in hers, but that didn't come until much later.

ME

Who decides my life for me?
I am a schizophrenic, bipolar, autistic introvert. I have every right to remain so. Or so you would have thought.
But not they.
I, was an anomaly. I was a non-conformist. I was a diseased-pest. I was sick. I was so many things but me.
So they put me where they put you, when you're "sick". Restraints, dog-collars, electric shocks, the works.
Who decided that I needed to be cured? Indeed if there was a cure why would I ever want it?
All I wanted was to be left at my resources. But who gets that in this world?
You'd understand. I had to escape! I could not have been there.
And if my window of opportunity opened when I stabbed the guard, then you have to bear with me.
I wasn't a psychopath, definitely not a blood-lusting killer prowling through the streets.
I needed to rest. The lamp post was convenient.
That's where they found us.

SHE

I almost forgot . We sat there for a long while. Did we talk. No. With my blood-splattered clothes and the bloodied butcher's knife in my hand who would have?
But then we're not Romeo and Juliet. And we definitely weren't immortal.
We were just us.