“Your mark took the form of a human and spoke to you in your dream?” Anita asked over a bowl of Raisin Bran the next morning.
“Took the form of a whole doo wop group, actually,” I said, “or at least I think it did. It seemed mad that I wasn't listening to it enough.” I tore at a piece of buttered toast and sat on the couch.
“What does it want you to listen to, exactly?”
“I’m not sure. It didn’t say.”
“Or were you just not listening?”
Caleb was chowing down on a bowl of Froot Loops next to me with his feet propped up on the coffee table.
“You should go meditate or something,” he said with his mouth full of colorful mash. “Maybe they have some classes or something around here.”
“Yeah, I bet they do,” Anita said. “Maybe it’ll help.”
“I think I know how to sit and not think,” I said.
“Yeah, we know you know how to not think,” Anita said, “but there’s more to mediation than that, I’m sure. Come on, it’ll be a fun family activity.”
“I’m trying to listen to a sentient melanoma that’s taken up significant real estate in my brain, not go to the goddamn petting zoo,” I said.
Anita looked sad. So did Caleb. They both finished their cereal in silence. It made me wriggle in my seat.
“Alright, Jesus,” I said. “Let’s go meditate, I guess.”
I sat down on a pillow in a room with about fifty other people. Everyone else, including Caleb and Anita, were wearing workout clothes — gym shorts, yoga pants, you know what I’m talking about. I thought I could sit perfectly fine wearing my jeans and t-shirt, though. A young woman with a tight blonde ponytail sat at the front of the room facing us. She wore a white linen shirt and flowy linen pants with elephants on them.
“Hello everyone,” she said in a calm tone that annoyed the shit out of me. “In this introductory class, we will learn to sit and focus on the breath, and then we will do a full body scan. Is everybody ready?”
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The class nodded. She told us to close our eyes and take five deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling only when she told us to. It made me dizzy more than anything. She rang a bell of some kind that reverberated around the room for at least half a minute.
“Now, feel the energy come into your body when you breathe in, and feel the excess leave your body when you breathe out. Do it with me.”
In
I breathed in. My head started to feel sort of tingly.
Out
My mind slowed down.
In
My entire body started to relax at once.
Out
My head got super fucking itchy.
Holy shit I wanted to scratch my entire head like a louse-ridden child, but I restrained myself and tried to keep following along. My thoughts floated in and out of my mind like wispy clouds. Many thoughts floated into my head — Houston is hot as hell; I kind of need to piss; that episode of Ren and Stimpy when Stimpy peeled that guys toenail off with a crowbar; you should kill more people.
Wait, what was that last one?
You need to kill more people, Gus. It’s the only real way to become more powerful. Learning to fight will help, but killing people will make you a god. And you need to be a god if you want to survive, if you want your family to survive.
“Fuck you.”
A bunch of people turned to look at me.
“Sorry, not you guys,” I said. “You guys are great.”
They turned back around. The itching became unbearable.
You have to do it, and soon. I can’t help you if you don’t. Mickey’s out there feeding his mark, surely. If you don’t keep up, he’ll tear you apart even if the other guys don’t. It has to be done.
“Shut the fuck up!”
I rolled around on the floor, scratching my head furiously. The itching just wouldn’t fucking stop. I scratched so hard my scalp started to bleed, and I left stamps of blood on the floor as I rolled. Who did it want me to kill? There was nobody out here that needed to die, as far as I knew. Did it want me to slaughter innocent people just to get a little stronger?
Not a little stronger. A lot stronger. And more people will die if you don’t do it, Gus. It doesn’t matter if they deserve it. You just need to do it. Listen to me for once!
The whole room was on its feet now. People started to clear out like there was a fire in the building, being careful to stay as far away from me as possible. Caleb grabbed my shoulders and shook me.
“Stop!” he yelled. “The cops are on their way. We need to leave!”
Still scratching my bloody head, I stood up and followed them to the van, and we peeled out of there. I laid out in the back, scratching the itch that wouldn’t go away, and trying to drive the thoughts away, but they wouldn’t leave. They were driven into my brain like an ice pick.
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL
KILL