Axe For Cork Extraction4

I think I am in a plane and Jamie is locked with Alison in a studio.

Are they musicians?

As well?

Mid-
Midnight Boom! I think that’s their band name or-

He hums that song. I hear the noises from above and look at the blonde northern guy handing me a sandwich.

“Hi, Jamie.” And I think I wake up as I say that to him.

I roll over.

I think I should bang him. The thought comes with his leather gloves which slide with the sandwich as he holds my nose and feeds me. I close my eyes for a second as tension seems to be stuck and I wonder what happened to the passenger and what should I do instead of just biting. I open -

They isolated themselves during th- band?

I close my eyes and I let the left overs of the sandwich just lie in the guy’s palm. He squeezes the sandwich, oh, so softly and wraps his mouth around the bread, gives it a suck, fingers over the bread back and forth.

I look at him as the plane slowly starts to shake.

I watch him for a while and then he takes two fingers, puts them in my mouth and stretches out my lips so that they ache and he can see my tongue. I show him my tongue.

He sucks his finger and goes with one hand in his underwear.

Maybe it’s because you don’t really stick your hands into strangers.

There is something about that moment when you think you see death.

Maybe that had been the first time I had seen Pete leaning across the seat in which the northern man should have been, looking bored at everyone, starting to smoke a joint as the air seemed to go darker and Pete’s joint lighter and I think the swedish guy came when I had caught Pete’s eye.

I saw him stand up and walk easily towards me, sitting past the swedish guy enjoying cum on his fingers.

Pete smiled at me.

“I think you’d look good with facial hair.” He said laughing slightly and he smoked the rest of the joint.

Meg keeps looking at me as I clean up with the memories and no connection to this place or Meg, maybe I hadn’t been with Alison, but then where would she come from? So I just wonder if I would look up I would see Pete with his hat and maybe with a joint. Maybe it were drugs or maybe I had to take drugs to simply come back to reality? What was it that I actually had to do?

So as soon as I clean up everything we leave and Meg just looks around and the sky seems to be a bit cleaner than usual. Did we even have stars in the first place? I don’t think so. Maybe we are on a holiday which Pete shall never tell us or maybe he just forgot to switch off the dim lights so that we would all sleep.

I once had the thought that what if he were Father Time as I just flicked through different random characters in my head, but then would he be with a joint?

Maybe the joint would be the hourglass, we’re not exactly all sane here, are we?

What if this is all a joint and Alison had fallen asleep in my arms and then there was no Jamie yet in her life.

I open the door and I wonder if I would ever see Jamie until the joint would end and what would it mean? Would it mean both of us going back to silent random wars like who would guess the colour of the weatherman’s t-shirt and we would try to match it with some small path of clothing and we would feel shadows behind us about to grasp us and we wouldn’t see anything a random paranoia would just collapse out of the blue.

I wonder what if we could gather everyone and just smoke Pete’s joint all of us in a row, maybe Jamie and me, fuck, why not?

Maybe it wasn’t that obvious when I saw him knocking on the door the next day, Meg opening the door and him carrying the woman to the kitchen table, dumping her on a seat, her hair long and he gave her a cereal bowl then she glanced at Meg, laughed, pat her head and soon enough Jamie gave her a bowl with cereal and milk.

I just watched them, as he would serve her more with tea and coffee and a salad for an ending as we just stared, maybe she was trying to recall or maybe her mind was in a closet with her head peeking out and her hands were holding the wooden doors.

And then she closes the closet and Jamie managed to drill a hole there to peek and talk, but not touch.

Maybe he’d take her out and drag the closet with him, she’d be holding the doors maybe it’s the way it is.

I keep staring at him and her and then I glance at Meg.

What if she’s even younger when we come back to life? What is she doesn’t live at all? What if she is the closet? What if Jamie is married to Meg? I don’t think I am married to Jamie though, I dreamed of breasts once and I believe I saw a ring there unless I was cheating. What if I am woman?

“What the fuck, Jamie?” I don’t ask him what is he doing with my wife, maybe Alison had been outside as she starts to giggle nervously near Jamie and watches me with curiosity and Meg shows no interest after Alison gives her a blank look when she addresses her as mum.

“What?” He asks eating some chunk of bread and slowly chewing it. I wonder how would Jamie looked if he came from the north, maybe he had lured me to death and I wonder if I could press him against the wall even if his fingers are around Alison’s earlobe, stroking it.

Maybe I am a whorehouse and these people live within me.

Maybe

Well, I think I do exist, so in my mind I press Jamie harder against the wall, I think we do exist, since we are here, so therefor we are something. Like a stick.

And maybe we all shove it up someone’s ass, maybe we are all a stick.

Maybe we are all a cock in a gay bar, a real flesh cock saying hi to all the gay men.

Maybe we are Pete’s joint or Pete but then I’d be smoking a joint too instead of wondering what would the joint do if we would steal a few from Pete most likely be lying dead and laughing as everything would seem even more funny and I’d feel like helium.

Maybe Pete is the one who is helium after all maybe we all breathed in too much, but then what the fuck can happen from helium anyway, maybe we are the balloon?

I wonder how will they look when they are old.

Alison and Jamie.

And I guess I would want to die with that thought, at least now, about Alison, so I just close my eyes and wonder where did all the food I mention come from.

We all need to die, but I don’t think we will, no matter how much I had shot people or Jamie had sliced them open, they would just not die, they would lie there, not breathing, not moving but alive, if to thin of it, their temperature would just go higher and higher and Jamie would tell me to shrug it off.

Me and Jamie decided to keep checking on this guy we killed, somewhere in his forties, when we had just to see our forty, I don’t even count my age and when me and Jamie felt like it could’ve been a birthday we congratulate both of us, just in case it might be the other’s birthday.

The man was gone and a mug with his name was left on the top shelf with all the books taken out of there.

Jamie wouldn’t stop laughing and I just broke the mug, wondering if it would burn the house due to it’s temperature.

It didn’t, it just broke and became warmer and warmer.

We’d check on the shards until we couldn’t even walk up to the them due to the warmth, never get burnt, but to never touch either the fully living or dead, mug or no mug, even if I wouldn’t break or hold in the freezer, the warmth would get stronger and Jamie once ate a shard and we stared at him.

I think I kissed him.

I think I made out with him.
I think I went inside.

I think it felt good.

Maybe we should pin it down.

Maybe a mug would be a joint.

But then it comes from the dead.

There is something more to this so I look at Jamie who drink milk and throws up, the mug stuck in his now split bottom lip. He starts coughing harder and I just stare at him, not doing anything, wondering if he would die. The shard is impossible to even hold and Jamie’s temperature goes a bit high.

He falls down and I keep staring at him.

Maybe he would die, but he doesn’t.

Jamie just lies there, Alison shifting all over the rooms for a while, as his temperature goes higher the next days.

Then she shifts me.

And I’m stuck with Meg.

I want Jamie to die, so that I would see it.

He doesn’t.

Alison kisses him too much.

Jamie doesn’t die anyway.

So I have the thought of stabbing the fucker away with his own knife, but Alison doesn’t let me and Meg calls me.

She calls me upstairs and she keeps looking at me. I feel that I could trace the knife up and above my head so that I would be blood, maybe then Pete would notice me, maybe then my temperature would be up, so I take the knife and I start from the neck, past the adam’s apple, cutting deeper, nearly going for my eye, keeping my vision, my life won’t be taken away from me, so I try not to lose all my senses and I keep cutting, watching Meg stare at me and then I trace the other side of the knife above her arm, up to her sleeve and cutting it slightly, tearing the edge as blood becomes my sweat and I stare at her.

She has my blood, so I sink the knife in her arm, she doesn’t break eye contact or say anything, so I stick it even deeper so that it would go through her arm.

There is no pain here indeed.

We smile.

Heads against.

Smile.

Smile.

Smile.

Fuck, I want to kiss her, so I stick the knife deeper, so that she wouldn’t feel pain, I stroke her legs, going between for a bit and my tongue is inside her mouth and she kisses as if she knows and it attracts me.

I can’t stop all the thought-

memories

and I gasp.

“Meg-

Maybe

No.

I just open my eyes, she’s here, I’m here

And I think it actually does ache in the end.

Yeah.

It does.

I think.

I believe.

I think.

I get the knife out and I cut off my tongue, but it’s still there.

I can’t lose a sense, can I?

I think so.

Neither can Jamie.

I think he’s shagging her.

Maybe not now.

Maybe not here.

Maybe not there.

Maybe we are a morgue in a helium ballon, wrapped in something to go away and just get the air out. Maybe that’s what life is. We come in a death package so our life should as well, just in the minor case that we might not die after all, but meet the morgue keeper at the rug in the middle of the room with a blade to bring all the pain and make life worth it, because you just can’t be the never knowing tragedy kind.

So he’d stab you.

Alone.

-

I'm sorry for not posting two days and here I am exhausted but so inspired that I wrote even the beginning of the next chapter and I feel guilty for forcing myself to stop. Yes, I love writing and I'd write 'til death and later, fuck, all my life and it was what I am doing apparently.

The northern dude and the plane was a thing which actually happened to me, there was heavy turbulence and the steward was northern and quite good looking which resulted in me being Jack, thinking that Jack would shag him, I think as characters some time and yeah, stuff like that.

Basically, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter of Axe For Cork Extraction and I guess maybe this is the middle, feels like Jack will figure out something soon or maybe not, depends when I will fill the end of this, really.

Thank you very much for the luck and thank you, thank you, thank you.

part 5