Jack Vital
My haven is my prison. The door is closed and locked. I’ve gated myself in to keep me safe and to give me time. I am affording myself plenty of time for hesitation. Plenty of time. Balking is the only thing that gave me comfort during life and now is the only thing giving me comfort as I journey into death. I am stalling with death just as I did with life. The only time I felt comfortable was hesitating to make moves in life. This bathroom floor and locked door is providing me that same comfort.
If only Grave would stop moving out there I would truly get to enjoy it. Well, not enjoy it. No. I would be able to feel the nothingness that comes when my hesitation eclipses my fear for what lay outside that door. Nothingness is better than fear. In this new world fear is everything and I have the bullet wound to prove it. I can hear Grave manically moving around preparing. Getting ready for something. Our next move. He is always getting ready. He takes notes all the time. Hastily writing down thoughts and ideas. He talks to himself describing the behavior of those beasts outside the window. He talks to himself about how we will survive. When I hear him say my name it is a reminder that he will require action from me. Upon hearing it I instantly come back into this bathroom. I can’t stand the idea of an expectation.
In the nothingness I can let that blackness take me over. I come into this bathroom, close the door. Lock it. Then I close my eyes as my finger glides through the air with some unnamed determination. I am a fiend for a mind made of nothing. Empty space is better than the thoughts. Grave starts shouting about how he knows he is going to die by the hands of those beasts. A sermon that usually precedes his bit about how he is not afraid.
I know there are far more of you than myself. Your stink will prevail long past my momentary existence.
He won’t shut up long enough for me to run through my routine into nothingness. My hiatus from fear. My vacation from blackness.
My finger finds that bullet wound and feels around to make sure it is there. The pain affirms it.
You will stand victoriously over me! One foot firmly rooted on the ground and the foot proudly staining my befallen chest with blackness, shit, and blood. It will stay standing there while I turn to dust. I know this. The stink you and your minions have left to remind me is nothing new. Nothing! It is not defiance of you, though I confess it shades my confession.
He goes on.
I attempt to tune him out. I push my finger down more firmly and I become more certain of my infection. I pull my finger away to see if it is the blackness that leaks out. I am certain it is.
… allowed me to have. My seconds are limited by the counted number you have braised on the back of my head where I can not see. But my fingers can read the tattoo by touch and I will not allow myself to forget that you have given me a zero hour. I will keep your presence a part of my every second. Forgetting is a luxury I will not allow myself.
Why won’t he shut up? I want to forget him. I want to remember remembering. I want to forget this place. Shut up Grave! Shut the fuck up. I look back to my finger it is a bright ruby blood that has inhabited my finger. Disappointment and determination.
…and I shall see you as a friend. My friendly reminder that today I am alive. What fear should I have for you if you provide me even a single day before that dark day? And what shall I do if the days that precede that darkest day are dark themselves. I will reach behind my head to feel my tattoo so that I can be reminded that that moment may be dark, but it is not the darkest. What fear should I have if…
Fear is all I have. The blackness is in me. I take a deep breath in, I can smell that darkness from outside the room. Or is it from me now? It smells terrible. I exhale and take another deep deep breath in. I start to gag and allow my finger to penetrate the wound. The pain chews up my thoughts. Fear mixes in with pain which then balances out to nothingness and
… fear. Fear. Fear. Thank you for it. I understand its purpose now with your minions knocking at my door. I see now that fear drove me. A day where I fear you is a day I get things done and check things off my list. But the day I accept you is the day I no longer need to get things done. Fear. Fear. Fear. Today is the day I begin to live without fear. And Jack will…
Oh God. Oh God. No. I jam my finger in the wound. I can feel my pupils dilate as my eyes spread out and then roll back. Sweet release. Just one more minute, I ask for. Just one more minute. As I fade to static I hear Grave.
Jack and I will look you in the eye and thank you for our moments without asking for more. Because with our understanding comes justice. We can not live forever. Your minions won’t allow for it and neither will you. The clock ticks. You’re foot taps for us while you hold our coats waiting. We will meet. Jack. Myself. You. We will meet. When absolutely does not matter.
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