It was late in the morning and the hushed studio apartment was shrouded in a haze, illuminated scarcely by a slice of sunlight that pierced through the devouring darkness from cracked curtains. It shredded more light to its surroundings that bounced from the ends of its rays. Little particles were illuminated in the air from this intruding beam with the appearance of white slivers, dancing and twirling about while a symphony of snoring incidentally filled the vacant frequencies. Its audience was seated on the floor that masked various spots which were that of clothes, empty glass bottles and microwavable containers which were lined with bits of grease and food. The room was a spacious sardine can which had previously been a hotel, the building was converted into a housing solution; furniture was sparse and the room resembled your run of the mill vacation dormitory. TV, TV stand, microwave, table and chair, the bed was placed opposite along the middle of the back wall accompanied by a black wooden nightstand carrying a lamp while the land-line was MIA.
“No-no-I dohn wanna go to tha store” were the words that broke the silence, jutting out from his mouth while he shifted in uneasiness, still remaining unconscious and pressed to the bed. There on the mattress layed a somewhat toned caucasian male in his mid twenties, belly down and an arm tucked under the pillow, he wore only black pajamas that had tiny bananas on them. Short brown hair with golden streaks coursing through on the top of his head, sides and back were buzzed with a fade. Adorning a nose ring on his left nostril and an oval but masculine face which was smooth to the touch, a trail of drool came from his mouth and was making itself at home in the weaves of cotton and polyester below.
Breaking the silence even more was an alarm that started going off, it was hacking away bit by bit trying to stir the slumbering one from his cushioned cradle. His phone pounded away harshly atop of the nightstand, shaking about in intervals and was paired with a cheery tune. He groans in response to the sounds being emitted from his cellular, pulsing atop of the hard wood surface as the continued rattling felt like it was shattering his eardrums. Sluggishly looking up from his sleeping spot, eyelids were preening the light dashing into his red veined eyes that had dark bags underneath them. His heavy head proved difficult to hold high as it swirled intensely from indulgence the night prior, he falters. Letting off the weight from his neck, the swimming skull he carried dropped back into the soft pillow before and sloshed his brain about. Half awake and still inebriated, he puts all of his strength into the closest arm that could fight back against the noise. Reaching out with one hand, fingers stretched and searching blindly, he was somehow able to discover everything else on the surface before finding his device. Triumphantly, he manages to silence the phone that was screaming at him, merely with a press of the lock button.
Lying on his enabling mattress he is thankful for no longer being disturbed, the peaceful stillness of the room is lulling him back, but was shortly shaken awake from a sensation gathering at the the back of his throat. Rocking his body into an involuntary state of gagging, he attempts to reach the bathroom with hasty efforts. Arms pushing up from the soft surface while his cheeks billow out, desperately fighting against the invading force. Focus was being rocked about from his stirring head, causing footing to give away as he stepped off the bed. Slipping on an empty bottle that rested sideways on the floor, his foot shot out and kicked the nightstand with an audible thud while he then fell to his back. No time to acknowledge the pain he pushes up from the back of his elbows, rotating around and reaching for a small trash can that was tucked away between his nightstand and bed. Pulling it close, he begins to hurl into the plastic bag lined bin. Wiping his mouth and spitting a few times into the small container he breathes hard as if out of breath. He blows his nose into a palm and then wipes the residue on the side of his pajamas. Slumping over sideways onto his back he quickly falls back to sleep on the floor with limbs sprawled out.
Hours later his sleep is cut short from a knocking within his skull, as if his brain is trying to break out of the cranial prison it resides in. He raises a hand with pointed fingers, directed to a single spot on his dome trying to soothe the pain, moving them in a massaging circular motion back and forth. He gets up from the floor and takes to sitting on his mattress, grabbing a jug of water that rested by his bed that pressed against his box-frame. Opening the vessel he takes a few swigs and feels the cool revitalizing liquid rush down his throat. Stopping to catch his breath, he glances over to the night stand where his mobile device rested. The noise around it was distracting, pulling eyes away from the blinking light and into scattered hues that seemed to bloom out with promises. The bramble was somewhat easy to sort out, for everything could be identified by similar colors or shades. With only three important ones, the first was black, being the table, remote or phone, second was whites that were paper plates, napkins or plastic screw tops. The final was orange, which were of his pill bottles that shared white on tops and sides. The orange translucence was nostalgic to him with the whites being the helmets and suits they wore. As a kid he always pretended they were soldiers, marching in his house with a strict formation. Serving and protecting him and the ones he loved, imagining this for he was told that they were their saviors. Some of the infantry had lost their lives in the battle of attrition, for they rested on their sides empty and without a helmet.
Dust had annexed most of the nightstand, with layers accumulating in certain spots where interaction didn’t happen, gripping the edges tightly and losing its influence the closer it was to the bedside where his hand made presence. A TV remote sat at the top of the nightstand, tucked away hiding behind empty bottles and a face-down picture frame. The remote was prodding out one end towards him as if it was calling out for attention. ‘What cartoons are on right now?’ was a quick distraction that was easy to indulge in and fall back asleep to. Hand being drawn to such an object, he could not give in to its preying temptations. Being ruled by dismay, he pulled his hand away from the lust for temporary salvation. Fighting off the remote and turning attention towards his phone that laid among a quarry, he was able to easily pick it out as the green notification light-seared away at the top. Standing out amongst the black unlit sea it resided in, its blinking was hard to ignore. The minuscule emerald dot of truth that sent out an sos, was successful in catching his passing eye.
He squeezes his eyes tightly, blinking with attempts to wrangle off the scorching dryness helped marginally. Then closing one eye, he squints with the other, trying to make out the vague flat surface projecting its beacon. He grabs the device with a free hand, resting fingers on one side and pressing a button on the other with his thumb to wake the screen. Brightness was set to max, singeing his eyes from what felt like a flash-bang he squeezed them tight in reaction. Squinting through the deafening light he pushes on from a bout of curiosity and impatience. Entering his pin number, digit by digit ‘1-1-9-9’ the phone unlocks and presents its home screen. Clicking on the chat bubble icon at the bottom with a ‘1’ hovering in-front of it, the screen switches over to the conversations that were stored. Ignoring the wall of chats, he presses on the new message from Edmund, opening it up and begins moving his eyes side to side.
-Anthony, we are sincerely sorry about your current predicament in life, but we, as a company, have given you an allotted time frame and must move on assuming your mental condition is in a dire state. Asking you to return after such a traumatic event and expecting full fulfillment of your position is presumptuous and quite demanding. We have decided to give you one month of pay in advance, and have begun seeking out replacement of your position. We hope you understand our decisions as a business, and that you appreciate our attempt to care for your needs. Following this email, will be a link to Therapists and Social workers that you may contact free of charge. All you have to do is give the referral code to them at the end of this message as confirmation. We all wish the best for you and your loved ones.
~Edmund
https://cmrs.rs/21fz3
REFERRAL CODE - AE5682K31Y-
He isn’t capable of understanding the full message given his drunken hangover, only taking away that he is being replaced and out of a job. Looking at his phone with one eye open, he hears what sounds like a piece of paper being slipped under the front of his door. Turning towards the sound, he sees a white envelope that is propped up at an angle from the sill of his door frame. Locking his phone and slides it into his pocket, he gets up and walks towards the envelope, grabbing it off the ground. Inspecting it, he flips the rectangle back and forth, then looks forwards while grabbing the door handle. Opening it he steps out into the hallway seeking the one that delivered the folds of paper to his residence. Turning his view down one direction of the hall, seeing no one he turns a 180 and lays eyes on a man walking away, who is shuffling through more envelopes. “Hey!? Whuts his al-bout!?” Anthony shouts at him. The guy turns around and shrugs,
“I’m just the messenger man” he says, turning away and continuing down his path. Anthony stares at him for a bit, then feels his head stirring in agony. Raising a free hand to cradle the tense cranium, he turns back inside. Closing the door and putting attention to the mail he just received; tearing off one of the short sides, he pulls out the folded paper.
-EVICTION NOTICE-
That is all he sees from the letter, not even reading the rest of it, he puts in effort to fight back tears swelling up within while biting his lip. Slumping back onto the wall of his short hallway and slides down closer to the floor. Knees up with arms laying on top and crossed into each other. He rests his head into the bridged limbs with a face full of anguish as his thoughts begin to fester. ‘Why is all of this happening to me?’ Opening up his form a bit he starts to lament, tossing the paper in frustration and throwing punches in the air. Still holding back tears and gritting his teeth, he looks up at the apartment. Rage coursing through his veins he gets up off the ground and moves towards all of his belongings and begins to violently rearrange his room.
Once his anger has run dry he lays down on the floor, the white popcorn ceiling takes over his vision. No longer caring about his hangover or the throbbing headache, for his mind is plagued by misery and sadness. After what feels like hours of sorrow, he finally notices something poking into the back of his skull, lifting his head a bit as he digs out the object. Pulling it into view above his head, he sees it is a picture of him, his mother and his sister. His face begins to tighten with a frown, slamming his eyes shut, he starts hitting himself in the forehead with his free palm. Just about four or five times before he rests the calmed banging hand covering his eyes while the one holding the frame slumps down beside him. Groaning out of frustration for he is not sure what to do anymore. He no longer has his mother, she is gone, she has been gone. She is never coming back, no matter what he tries, that is absolute. Thinking of what he wants most out of life, there is only one thing, and that thing is certainly impossible. He pulls the phone out of his pocket and moves his eyes to the lock screen, it displays what he was looking for.
-1:17 pm
Sunday, February 27-
Attempting to move past delusion and trying to accept reality, he then says out-loud while still looking forward at the screen.
“It doesn’t even feel like it’s been that long… Just the other day, we were laughing about how mad Janet gets over the curtains being open. Thinking someone outside would be watching us.”
He chuckles to himself a bit being in a reminiscent state, the dread pools over again drowning out the happy memories. The smile lasting only for a moment on his face transitions back to a frown. Grief settles in much deeper after reliving the happy memories that just crossed his mind. He clutches the picture to his chest with both hands, shutting his eyes tightly, a few drops escape from his clasped lids.
Dusk is settling in while his mind cries out for attention and comfort. The first person that jumped into his thoughts was his girlfriend. Thinking back with a faded and distraught mind, he catches glimpses of them getting into a heated argument and breaking up, hurting more from the sudden memories he doesn’t let up. At this moment, his mind is on autopilot and takes whatever actions to meet ends need. Propping up on his side while unlocking his phone (1-1-9-9) it opens, and looking back at his messages he sees there was one from her that was already opened.
-Clarice- 2/24/22-
He lets out a sigh of disbelief. Resting his head back he asks himself “What the fuck have I been doing this whole time?” sitting there for a moment he rubs his eyes, attempting to clear his vision. While holding up the phone he pries open the heavy lids, points with an index finger and taps on the message.
-After all that I have done for you, I have given you my all and you still refuse to let me in. I have only been putting my all to be there for you, but all you do is ignore me, push me away and treat me as a burden. I am so sorry that your mother passed away but that is not my-
He stopped reading and thought back to the bad news recently introduced to his life, the news he was trying to reject. Eyes crossing over the word ‘Mother’ made his heart sink and chest tighten. Even with his mind fatigued, he can only think about the one person that has been permanently removed from his life. Emotions have been dulled from constant and continued self medication: self and prescribed as he felt they still weren’t enough alone. The waters being held back had amassed behind a dam, piling up and desiring freedom, but were met with a strong diligent will. Angry that his emotions would not push through had troubled him so. Even from reading the message his past lover wrote failed to bring anything to the surface. ‘Clarice’ he thought solemnly in his head, ‘I never deserved you’. Looking back at his phone, unlocking it to look back at the text, intending to read its entirety.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
-Clarice-
Immediately after seeing her name again he disregards it and attempts to call her, the phone rings for the full length, then goes to voicemail. Sighing while looking at his phone he tries again with trembling lips, but this time he is sent straight to voicemail after a few seconds. Knowing what signs he is given emotions start to stir about, reminding him why he didn’t want to feel anything. He gets up and walks over to his nightstand, pulling out the drawer that was ajar. Reaching in and yanking out two of the pills that rested at the outer corner. Popping them into his mouth as he looks to the side of his pillow and sees a mostly empty bottle of whiskey that is missing its cap. Grabbing it he drinks the rest of its contents ‘This is all that seems to make me feel better’ his brain said as he washed the pills away with liquor. His memories begin to fade bit by bit, with the last one of him walking over to his restroom.
Anthony is now waiting in line at the liquor store, clenching a handle of whiskey in each hand. His eyes are dashed with red and dark bags underneath. His face is painted with sorrow and fatigue. With his turn at the register he places the bottles on the counter listlessly. The middle aged clerk looks up at him from the clanks of the bottles, seeing his face and outfit that was consisting of banana pajamas, blue crocs, and a white shirt that was covered by a dark blue plaid flannel, she lets out a “Yeesh '' along with a frown and squinched face. She reluctantly scans the items and without even thinking to id him she says “54.97”. He inserts his card into the chip reader, noticing the clerk looking at him out of the side of vision, he looks at her and gives a slight forced smile that quickly resumes the half dead expression that was there prior.
After paying he gathers his things and starts for the exit. Doing his best to walk straight he tilts and nudges a man’s shoulder on his way out. The man watches him struggle to open the door for a bit before helping him. He pulls the door open and Anthony staggers out making his way to his car that was a black and dated Volkswagen mini sedan. The slightly irritated and curious man had felt a jolt rush throughout his body upon making contact with Anthony and proceeded to follow him out the doorway. Getting a good study of the man he watched waggle into the vehicle, he then looks at the numbers on his license plate. Pulling down shades to get a better view, revealing his eyes which held irises that were but a brilliant gold color. Refitting his shades he pulls out a phone and begins to call someone. Watching as the car drives off the ringing stops, and is greeted with a hello.
“I got some plates for ya, I think you are going to like this one.”
In hazy shaded bits of memories, Anthony sees himself opening the mirror cabinet on the bathroom wall of his apartment, eyes focused on an unopened bottle of antidepressants that sat on the shelves next to toiletries and band-aids. Popping it open he takes a few capsules, pulling up the bottle of whiskey from his other hand and slamming some shots to help the pills go down and then sets the bottle on the floor. Letting out a few coughs from the harshness of the alcohol, he turns on the faucet and starts swigging some water to try and ease the burn that was scorching his throat. Stopping to take some breaths of air, he composes a bit while resting his hands on both sides of the sink. Raising one hand to close the cabinet, he then looks up into the mirror at himself. Looking deep into his own blood shot eyes, a face full of grimace and grief, he raises a clenched hand. Thinking back to all the past events that have sent him into a spiral of emotions, he hates what course of actions he has taken and feels anger swelling inside. Grunting while he releases a punch forward, breaking the flat surface in which was showing him the disappointment he wished not to see. Feeling a warm liquid pouring down his right hand and then shortly after his arm, he feels a stinging sensation across the back of his fist. Inspecting the area producing pain he sees blood racing out from a cut buried under the red liquid. Still looking at his hand, he opens the cabinet in which he had just assaulted, followed by a search for gauze held within its contents.
From the view outside of his apartment building, Anthony is seen stumbling along and making his way to the outer parking lot. One of his hands is overly wrapped in the medical tenders that he found in his house with one of the ends hanging loosely. While mostly white, the area covering his knuckles seems to be soaking in a combination of dark and light reds. In his uninjured hand he is carrying a bottle of whiskey by its neck, lightly gripping it with his fingers. As it starts to slip from his hold he jolts his other hand to help catch it, flinging his pill container towards the ground. Adjusting to caress the bottle tighter, once it is secured he walks over to pick up the plastic vessel. He then gets into his car slowly, it is a struggle with his hands full and steadiness altered, exclaiming out obscenities as the task is proving to be difficult. Finally, he is able to slump into the driver's seat while panting with a few beads of sweat trickling from his forehead. Resting his head back into the headrest, he closes his eyes; he catches himself falling asleep and jolts forward letting out a gasp. A few self administered slaps to the face does little to wake him. Taking the keys from his pocket he is greeted with another hurdle trying to put them in the ignition slot as you hear them jangle about.
Suddenly feeling a jolt from the right side of his head, he raises a hand to ease the sensation with a squished face and sucking his teeth, wincing from the unknown force. For a fraction of a second he saw an orange smeared figure resembling a human with a black and blue background flicked into his head. He turns his head to view what lies in that side of his view, his eyes meet upon another vehicle in the parking lot from where he thinks the feeling came from which is roughly 30 feet away. Inside are two men, one is a bit tanned in his skin with dark curly hair and thick stubble. The other is bulky and rests higher than the other, his hair is golden and short while wearing some circular shades blocking out his eyes, that is all that he can make out from staring at them in his drunkenness. The man in the driver's seat raises his hand and nods. He stares for a second more, thinks nothing of it and slowly turns forward with a confused look upon his face. He finally gets the car to start which felt like ages to accomplish, then putting it into drive he pulls off from the lot slowly coming to a stop at the outlet as he waits for traffic to clear.
“Que chingao! Are you sure that’s the guy?” the driver says, slanting one hand out from his body while turning his head to the passenger. The other man is scrolling up and down on a police laptop and comes to a stop, then pointing at the screen holding the most recent image of Anthony’s driver license.
“His hair is different, good thing too cause that mop looked horrible. Address and plates match up so I’d say that’s our guy. Even though I didn’t sense anything coming off of him, we’ll still follow him around for a while and see if anything changes.” The man then writes some notes down in a small pad, taken from the info on the screen while he prods away at his compatriot in a demeaning tone. “Why did you stop concealing yourself?”
“What?” he says back with annoyance lined in his voice. The other man then turns his eyes towards him, peeking through the angled crack of his shades. He as well has lush golden irises that shine brightly and had three black lines evenly spread out on the bottom halves, coming from the pupils and meeting the edges with finely tipped points.
“Why did you stop concealing yourself? It could have just been a coincidence, but he looked at us right away.” The driver stares back with an irked expression saying nothing. “If he does end up being awakened and we fail to capture him… I’ll have to dispose of a puppet. I think we can both agree that we don’t want that.”
“Uh, well I didn’t think he-“
“You saw how wasted he was!? Before he drove off, he clearly sensed us cause you stopped concealing!” he yells out to his driver cutting him off, then looking forward and rests his head into upward pointed fingers out of irritation while he twists his lips about.
“Ay caprone” says the driver as he pulls down the right side of his collar, revealing a strange black mark on the side of his neck. It was small and circular in size, containing a dot in the middle with eight wavy symmetrical tapering lines trailing off of the outer circle. It is a little bigger than a quarter in size and was underneath his skin like a tattoo. The man then points at it using his index finger with truculence. “This is your fault pendejo.”
The man turns towards his associate while pulling his shades down, resting them on the bridge of his nose to get a clear look. Sighing, then pushing his shades back to conceal the mystical eyes he owns, he rotates away to look out the window. Scratching away at the stubble scattered amongst his jawline, interjecting to disrupt the offset vibes inside the car.
“Right, I guess I could have done this on my own, but you can never be too careful with these fresh ones. We should go before we lose sight of him.” He snaps his fingers along with the end of his sentence as if giving a command. The man sitting in the driver seat rolls his eyes and groans, throwing his hands up in annoyance.
“Pinche culero!” Churning the key to start the engine, he then treads along to follow the car ahead of him, doing what his ears received but mostly what his mind had felt, as he was only a slave to the threat residing within his own neck.
Looking up at the sky, there are clouds to be seen that were blushed with dark blues. Anthony can be heard below, he is talking as if there is someone else there. The Clouds soon lead into a skyline of pines, further leading down into a cemetery. The headstones fit in well with the natural abundance around. There is a big clearing of the woods to make way for all graves that are present and rested into the soil. The trees, flat ground and decorative headstones compliment each other well as some of the plaques are dusted with hints of greens and browns from years of enduring the elements. Before one grave, lies Anthony at his knees. He is kneeling over and clenching one fist over his heart gripping his shirt tightly. Looking over at the stone before him it reads out,
-IN LOVING MEMORY OF
ADELINE RAE MARLEWICK
1975-2022
FOREVER IN OUR HEARTS
YOU WERE THE ONE AND ONLY
TILL WE ALL RECONNECT ONCE MORE-
Anthony then starts to speak again, “I just wish you were here right now mom. I- I don’t know what to do. The only other person that cared about me, doesn’t even want to see me… I miss you so much and I wished I was there for you more, I wished I spent more time with you. More time with you instead of that stupid woman!… I’ve lost everything.” He shuts his eyes tight and tilts his head down with stammering lips. Remembering his girlfriend getting upset with him, throwing various household items in his direction. He remembers her angry and torn expression bearing teeth accompanied by grunts and shouts while loose hair swung from side to side. He remembers those unpleasant memories of over ones with him and his mother. Getting frustrated, he starts banging on the ground with his uninjured fist, asking himself ‘Why!? Why can I only think of her !?’ while more memories of their fight play out in his mind.
“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” He screams at the top of his lungs, forehead planted on the ground and hands clenched in fists. At this point he starts to wonder if he hates her, or he hates how much he is attached to her. With his mind in such a terrible state he convinces himself of the latter and forces the lies to be true, he has decided that he hates her. He hates that she was in his life, he hates that he fell in love with her. He hates the very idea that he cares about her more than his mother. He hates that she cares about him, that she cares about him more than any other person would, for he wants that care, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves it.
‘Why? Why did she care about me so much?’ he thinks to himself. His insecurities have wrapped him around its finger. With an altered mind and fragile self-esteem, he is overcome with assumptions and self doubt.
‘We are done! Isn’t this what you wanted!? You shut me out so I’ll shut you out!’ her words rang loud and clearly through his head. It was as if someone had recorded it and pressed play while he was wearing headphones. Finally the tears surged out of his eyes, with their hard fought battle against the dam he had set up was won. No longer could he keep his emotions in, and there on the ground was where the dirt felt his sorrow. Whimpering with his forehead pressed on the crust of the earth, his catharsis made an appearance at last. Not being familiar with its aid, he felt destroyed and once again sought to run away from the stabbing misery instead of letting it relieve itself. Shooting his body up while still on his knees, he reaches into his shirt pocket, grabbing for a pill bottle that wasn’t there. Angering him for it was the aid he was seeking, he thinks of where he could have put it while tears still rule the arches of his cheeks. He stands up and seeks a solution to his new found problem.
Walking over to his car stepping from side to side as if he was aboard a sea vessel being tossed around by the ocean. Shifting about involuntarily, he manages to fight past the invisible waves and reaches his vehicle. Opening the driver’s side he steps in, slumping down roughly dust kicks up from the seat, he then turns his vision over to the glove box. Opening it to reveal another unopened pill container with its white cap and orange translucent body wearing a sticker across its bust that was like a belt, a belt telling most about itself but holding only its deepest darkest secrets.
-Anthony Ted Marlewick
Sertraline 50mg dosage
Once per day orally-
Grabbing the pill container he twists it open, turning the bottle on its side towards an open hand, most roll off and land on the floor, only two manage to stay on the palm awaiting their fate. Squinting down and looking at them with one open eye he sees their white oblong shapes, tossing them into his mouth he then reaches for the bottle of whiskey from behind a seat. Opening it he takes a big swig, then lowering the bottle to let out a breath of air. Recapping it, he tosses it onto the passenger side floor, struggles with the key again and swears to himself that the hole must be moving around avoiding the receiving end. Finally meeting with success he manages to jab it in its slot and starts the engine.