Sunday, 27 February 2011

Papercut. Chapter 30

Basically, technically, realistically, I couldn’t sleep. No, it's not as if I had a panic attack, where your eyes are glued to your eyelids, actually you don't feel your body, just fear, as if you'd be staring into a sky, being one big eternal hole with no stars and a hanging moon, sharp with a ringing noise every time you turn around.

The unknown.

It's scary, like a running train, you can fall under it, the banality, as you'd get sliced and die in melancholy, people wondering about how many fags to buy.

Again. I kept shifting from side to side my mind completely blank, but my pulse going faster than it should. Then in a quick flash, like the epic last moment before death, everything showed in flashes soon enough to forget.

He was above me, he was kissing me and he wasn't, but I felt the weight of his tongue and desire being ready to be sold.

No task opened, because of the fear of incest.

He was like my brother, but I still kept my hand down, stroking someone over the skin fabric.

I'm alone, as I pull the covers under me, wrapping myself like in a cocoon, a condom, protection, from any jinx the fucker might have, but then he doesn't exist, a tension, a ticket to explore homosexuality and narcissism, letting the other half go cold. I press my hand against the cold area, down below, it's dead, making sure that nobody was there despite my intentions. I sat up, pulling the covers onto my chin, feeling the fabric against my lips. It felt rather rough and dry. I could bite it and feel the lemon juice sink into my cheeks, as I'd trace my body, exciting the corpus.

Who do I want to see there, beside me?

Do I have somebody particular in mind?



As a girl.

It felt like as if I need whoever for a nice long session. I press my palm against my face letting it dig in, as if to reach my thoughts, take them out and throw them away and blow, as he'd lit them, he he he. It's a she as well. I'm sure of it, I kiss the girl, I keep her light eyes in mind.

I could hear him, walk around in circles his docs pressing against my mind, his swears burning up my ears, his fingers pressing against the walls breaking out of mind, as if it were a cardboard box to jump out and suffocate. The split-personality kicks the walls causing a head ache as if he was really there, walking on my brain, kicking the inside of my skull, biting the flesh, as he goes in and out above, me pinned, changing, shifting.

I can't make out his words.

Pleasure, mixed with pain, as he holds my arms and gaze, he sucks my eyelashes, taking my wishes.

He wants to talk to me.

My ego wants to tell me something, a confession upon the brick is unneeded, but we both know it's there and not out of the mouths. How weak. He wants to shake the life into me or rather take it away with a quick brush turning into a tight grip, as he sticks it in to make me scream and bite the pillow, which I shall have to pull over my head.

He wants my death.

He wants to kill me.

He wants Kayleen.

Don’t you?

He nods, pinning me against the floor, his breathing steadying.



He is the kid. He’s not just a split-personality. Who is he? Walking on my mind, killing my cells, corrupting my sanity. My ego just snorts, as his grip loosens. He yanks my chin forward, as if looking at my hair roots. My other self pulls a steak, pressing his index finger against the light brown roots, tearing one hair in the process.

I yank it off, feeling a numb pain, as I switch sides.

“Light brown, Roman.” He pushes my chin away in disgust, running his tongue over the hair steak, as if too feel the colour. Then he throws it away and stands up, not giving me any signal to follow his actions.

He looks back at me as he walks off, disappearing into the whiteness, heading towards a nice nap.

Because he’ll return even if he never mentions it.



Roman is the closest he'll ever get to Kayleen.

Her face fills my head as I see her besides me, her flaming hair touching her face, light eyes gleaming, as I swallow.

I feel him, that emotion foreign to my own.

He tries to take over, making a step towards something called deal. He wants everything in exchange for me to feel the same, for her to break up with that guy who is sleeping over.

They could be doing absolutely anything.

Go check on them.

Then as if something controls me, takes over me, I push myself out of my bed, leaving the warm bed covers call me as my body hits the cold, compared to the warm bed, temperature. I realize that the question I asked before about my boxers returns to mind as I strode down the stairs only in boxers and socks. My eyes seem adjusted to the lack of light in the whole house, even Kayleen’s room as I take a quick look at the distance between the floor and door.

I expect to see somebody in the kitchen, expecting a rather epic conversation following, but I get a bigger surprise. No, there’s no Kayleen or her boyfriend, Matt, I believe. No making out couple, no taking off Matt’s glasses, no hand in Kayleen’s hair.

Just the cold, empty dark kitchen which could possibly be lit by a flick of a lighter, open fridge door or tap on the switch. I do none as I stare at the dark room, pouring myself some water in the dark, feeling it stroke my fingertips in an easing way, traveling down onto my ankle until I stop pouring. I drink it hungrily as if I didn’t have a single drop in the past few days, which is a lie. Like life itself. I run a hand through my hair seeing how boring can four am be. I put the glass down as I stare at the dark wall not reflecting anything from ceiling to floor mirror reflecting my ego, staring back at me, running a hand through his hair as identical like I would do it.

Then I turn around, dropping my glass, as it breaks into shards, I want to trace it upon my body, I want it to be needle which will pierce my skin. I want to end it, a permament thought, as I wonder what had caused Roman to end it all on that instant, in the sink and head off back to the calling lonely bed covers with no Kayleen, Lola or Alice and even Roman.


I stir in my bed actually wondering if I had fallen asleep before. No, nothing, nada. I exhale trying to easy my boiling on its own, with no exact thoughts, gray hoddie colour computer. Basically that’s about it like an annoying numb, silent buzz in there. I try to make the new bed the culprit due to my lack of sleep, but isn’t that what keeps me going the next day in the morning? Ha, for my other self yes, but not me. My thoughts are mixed like two papers crumbled together and thrown in a dust bin to be forgotten by everybody but not my mind as it scribbles on with a sharpie or a shard of glass, which made it's way onto my finger to split the skin.

He had been with me… so long.

I guess sometimes I felt lonely without that screaming, swearing soft voice in head like a conscience only a really corrupted and one with rather bad intentions, as it stroked the teenage me. I felt like finishing school, the shite is over, you're there. But then can life be called something with good intentions? We eat meat, produce whatever that causes global warming and we break hearts, even if it's just theories we create ourselves to make us die eternally.

Well at least I do and so does my other self. I find my sleepy mind slowly drift off to a banal and popular topic.

What was my first kiss like?

I smirk, feeling an annoyed echo coming from my ego, he’s awake and suddenly I feel safe.

How did it feel like?

I shut my eyes trying to recall it.


I felt like a young man back then, after all, I of all people tasted what the guys in school bragged about as much as girls did. It felt exciting a new unknown taste upon the tongue playing in my mouth for quite a while afterwards soon disappearing away into the now faded away memory, taste and feel. The girl’s name was Molly. She had curly red hair, not scarlet, like Kayleen’s dyed but like orange peels, that day she straightened her short bangs, applied make-up for the first time, it was fixed, but it still had some flaws. I liked her, but nothing more and I screwed the rule of sharing the first kiss with somebody special, but then anyone seemed special enough until a certain blonde drenches your pain with tomato juice.

I could barely recall her now, all I remember how inexperienced we both were holding onto that kiss, making it last longer, after all it was a rather fascinating first. It happened during a dumb school slow dance, making it more interesting than the rest.

What happened to Molly?

I heard she decided to teach English for young kids, as she was the oldest of the three or four. She wears frames now and curls her hair making it look far from natural, but her face is always beaming, well I think it is. I saw her a while since she exchanged schools after a while after our break-up. Molly got into a posh school, that’s what I heard. At least no fucker kept running saying that I was the love of her life.

Lola. She should. Lola.

Lola. Kayleen.

I rubbed my eye, feeling a light sleepy note in my yawn.

What was my ego’s first kiss?

I feel a numb pain feeling and seeing a rough kiss, as the girl held her eyes opened during the kiss. I couldn’t really hold them open as I melt straight away letting the feelings take over as my arms find somewhere to rest is the waist, the shoulders or tugged into the hair, stroking softly, maybe cupping the cheeks. I always was curious to watch it from that angle but always forgot.

The pain was coming as the dark haired girl in designer’s clothes walked through my memories like a ghost, trying to remind herself, but failing or maybe she was reminding my other self. Who was she? Well, maybe she was my ego’s girlfriend. Fair enough I had Lola while he cheated on her with with…

What was her name, Nor…man?

With that I drift asleep, feeling our memories bond. They bond slowly, as they fade into the far away box of long forgotten unused memories mixing as if we were both one whole. But then we were.


I watch him fall asleep as my past girlfriend walks in his mind along with Molly crying over the breakup. I whispered my name to him with no exact reason. I lean down next to him, as the walls whiter than ever surround us in a easing to him way. He won’t remember it anyway. I can just erase it, make it my own, like I always do. Amnesia. Then, someday in many years he’ll find out whenever one of us gets rid of the other.
I watch him wake up, as he raises his body from the bed, his eyes hinting that he may be a zombie, as he shows no emotion as his olive eyes scan the room, trying to hang onto some familiar memory. Nothing, he tugs on his hair, feeling nothing, as I press myself against the wall, feeling a numb echo of his dreams follow him behind, as he blinks and presents me the ability to sleep tightly.


It had been the first chapter where I barely editted and read, enjoying it in quite a while.

I'm going to miss Roman.

Chapter 31

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