Motel Hell

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Horror really is not the correct genre to define it as it is not a horror story in any traditional sense though unquestionably being a guest at Motel Hell is indeed a horror and once you check in, well, there really never is any getting out. From the book :Welcome to the Idiot Box: Stories, Essays, Self-help Wisdom" by Xavier Cockroachal Damon. Available at Amaon.

Submitted: May 24, 2019

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Submitted: May 24, 2019

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Motel Hell

By

Xavier Cockroachal Damon

Welcome to Motel Hell, where lost souls go to dwell, and in dark hours, story tell, of just how far they fell, and how their souls they had to sell, to the highest bidder, but do not be a kidder, their souls were already gone, they were singing the same old song, they only came here to rot. Children of the world, the world forgot. Lives in motion that are not. They did not come here to die. They were already dead. Just living in dreams within their head. So now I will begin the story I have to tell. About the going’s on at Motel Hell…

A man stood on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, tapping the ashes from his cigarette to drift down the six floors to the ground. He leaned his arms against the railing for balance, a walker around him, for those stretches there was nothing to take hold of. Just a few feet from his room to the railing, but still, a few feet was enough to take him down.

There then came down the balcony, a woman, hysterical, crying, about how her boyfriend had taken all their stuff and moved out while she was at work, leaving her alone and with nothing, and no money. She was being led away, off the floor, in theory, out of the motel, by one of the security guards, tears streaming down her face. But from Motel Hell no one leaves. So back she’d be in the same space, dreaming of that special place, where she thought that she would be, finally, a life set free, instead the broken night she does see, all that could ever be. And off the floor she is escorted, to later in the night be contorted. But do not let her actions be distorted, just because this night she will be bent, she’s only doing it to pay the rent.

The man took a long drag from his cigarette, embers dwindling down to almost nothing. He tossed it from the balcony to the ground below. Then turned and hobbled back into his room.

2:14 AM. Do you know where your heart is?

Back in his room, the man continued the drinking process, so ending in sleep. Swilling vodka alone. Killing another night.

This is the realm of emptiness, and hopelessness, the drowning nights of no tomorrow. Castles created in the name of sorrow. And in the dungeons all here dwell, the accommodations at Motel Hell.

An old man came walking past the man’s window, the daily procession he followed time and again, mumbling to himself the delusion of the moment, agitated, in distress. And bearing no relation to the delusion of the moment before. The man took another long drink then lit a cigarette, lying on his bed.

A fight was playing out, outside, another beautiful image of the beauteous ride so called life. One of the two brandishing a knife. The man took another long drink, tapping ashes to the floor because he knew not where in hell his ashtrays were.

He felt himself drifting, hoping another day was finally done. He drank some more to

speed the process along, so that he might enter the black as the gateway to sleep. Immersed within it, beneath the deep.

The man stirred from slumber, opening his eyes to darkness, he sat up on his bed, checked his cell to see the time. 3:34 AM. So he got an hour of sleep. Start every day well rested. Early bird gets the worm. But then the worm eats the early bird from inside. Slithering out to the sidewalk to melt beneath the sun. He sat there at the edge of his bed for a while. Then steadied himself and stood, holding onto his walker. He made his way to the door, to go outside to have a cigarette. He opened the door. At that moment a man came stumbling past, knife wound to the stomach. He collapsed onto the floor immediately outside the man’s door. The man stared down upon him. He was obviously dead. And was being engulfed by rivers red. The man closed the door and lay on his bed, lighting a cigarette, drinking from his bottle of vodka. He drank until all started to blur. Then drank some more until the picture around began to fade. Then drank some more till asleep he fell. Another day in Motel Hell. Tomorrow was a new day though. Thank the lord for that.

The man awoke, he sat up on his bed and just stared ahead, looking in the mirror. He pulled out and lit a cigarette. He poured a drink. Breakfast not of champions, but of those who come in last. He gulped down the drink fast, then took a drag from his cigarette then hobbled out onto the balcony with his walker. The body was gone. Blood stains on the floor all that remained from the night before. He walked up to and leaned against the railing to smoke his cigarette. He looked down at the ground below. There were two couples, one at either end of the parking lot. Both of the couples screaming at each other, each one certain they were right, a getaway weekend at the hotel, apparently just to fight. Should they not, all just go their separate ways, but that’s never how the story plays is it? Even when one will also hit, by all means stay together to wallow in shit. Relationship based on hatred, disgust, lies, screams and cries, tears, violence, distrust, cheating, beating, scorn, porn, dreams torn, ennui, monotony, hopes for an end, pretend, nothing real, no good emotion feel. Love, aint it grand. A many splendored nothing. Rotting in a pit, procession of endless shit. Burying it so far below. Know when it is time to go. The word has both the most, all four members of the squabbles break from the insults and incriminations tossed, in the parking lot of the lost, and so ensues a chorus from all, three word stanza so invoked of “I love you.”, but it is also the phrase with the least meaning in all of language. Relationships. Know when to just be done with it, because most of the time I love you is just complete bullshit.

The man stared down, smoking his cigarette. There then appeared a couple, holding hands, smiling, appearing happy. The man turned, walked back into his room, and closed the door.  

The man awoke. He sat up on his bed and looked out the window. Night had fallen, the sky was black. He pulled a cigarette from an almost empty pack. He poured a drink and downed it in one gulp, took hold oh his walker and stepped outside. He leaned against the railing.

“Nice night isn’t it?” so said a woman, who stood a few feet to his right, occupant of the room next door, smoking a cigarette of her own.

“Well I guess in comparison to last night. But, the night is still young, it has just begun, sure it will soon go to shit.” responded the man.

“Why that’s a rather pessimistic way to look at things.” said the woman.

“Pessimism is but the mantra of the realist.” the man declared.

“Why not be an idealist then?” the woman asked.

“Because idealists burn in their own stupidity, never seeing reality.” he answered.

“I’m an idealist.” the woman announced.

“My apologies and condolences then.”

“Condolences, why?” she asked.

“For a life that can only know defeat, disappointment, and dreams forever unfulfilled.”

“Would you seek to take my idealism away?”

“Yes.” The man declared.

“Why?”

“So that you might be happy.”

“But without dreams what else is there?”

“No illusions of empty hope.”

“But, what kind of life is that?” the woman asked, perplexed.

“No life at all.” The man took the last drag from his cigarette then tossed it down, where it was caught in a breeze, flying but a moment, embers still burning, then dropping straight down to the ground. “Sorry, but I have to go back inside. I need a drink.” announced the man.

“O.k. then, nice meeting you.” the woman responded.

The man looked at the woman a moment then spoke. “We’ve met before.” He turned and entered his room and closed the door.

It’s 4:44AM. Some dumbfuck shit is supposed to happen if you look in a mirror and say some dumbfuck shit, however many dumbfuck, fuckin times. Or is it some other dumbfuck fuckin time you’re supposed to do that dumbass, dumbfuck fuckin shit. By the way, your heart, it’s stapled to your cross to bear. And there is nobody who gives a fuckin care. So in that mirror continue to stare. Awaiting a reaper who will never come. Dreaming for your life to just be done. A blessed end to all the fun. An end that for forever has just begun.

The man opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. A familiar process. He reached over and picked up a bottle of vodka with little left in it. He drained the remains down his throat in one long continuous gulp then dropped it onto the floor upon which he was also laying upon, then stared up at the ceiling some more. A familiar process.

He sat up and pulled himself up from the floor onto the bed. He pulled himself along it and sat up against the wall. He pulled out and lit a cigarette. Outside the window a woman was wailing, a man was shouting, a baby was crying, a child was dying, a husband was lying, to his wife, who he oh so loves, about what he was doing there, it was business he said, thinking he was using his head saying so. Sure, business always involves sticking your lower head inside another woman. Business though I guess it in a way was, the little rendezvous cost him the money for the room, 80 for the dalliance, and his wife, and his life, for you may check in to Motel Hell for just a night, but once you’re there, you’re there, there’s no getting out, for you are now a member of the masses of the lost, so tell me master of the deal, was getting fucked worth the cost of being fucked?

The man sat on his bed smoking his cigarette. He poured vodka into a cup and sipped it as

he sat there, staring into the mirror. There was then a knock at the door.

The man stumbled from his bed and to his walker, then to the door he went and opened it

Standing outside was one of the hotel managers who then began to speak. “You do realize that check out time is thelefweth thirty do you not.”

“Yes, I am well aware of that, a time that does not exist, what’s your point?”

“My point, dear sir, is to inform you that,” he looked at his watch, “oh dear me, dear my, it is well past thelefwith thirty so I’m afraid you must pay for tomorrow or be on your way,”

“You know full damn well that I pay the weekly rent and that I paid it two days ago. I’m also certain you are well aware that you attempt this same thing every damn week and it always ends with you saying let me check the records, records you don’t even have in your hand, that you pretend to read, then say, oh yes, my mistake, so very sorry.”

The hotel manager then said,” Hold on a moment while I check my records will you.” The manager looked at his empty hands, shook his head, then spoke. “Oh yes, well, my mistake, so very sorry. Suppose I shall be on my way then.”

“Yeah, you do that.” The man closed the door.

The man awoke. He took a drink from his bottle of vodka then pulled out and lit a cigarette. He stood. Swayed to find his balance, then walked out the door, leaning on the balcony. He turned to his left. There was a woman, vaporous, like an apparition. The man spoke. “So how have you been?’

“I have been as I have been though how I’ve been I do not know.” she answered.

“Any smiles?” he asked.

“Smiles, am smiles, all the whiles, but smiles are just grimaces hidden behind a frown in an ever burning town. As I sit upon my throne. Forever queen of nothing.” she replied with a sad voice.

“Well, I am at your beck and call, the forever king of nothing me lady.” The man bowed to her.

“Why thank you so my sire.” The woman curtsied. “But I really do begin to tire. Would it be a problem if I was to retire to sleep?”

“If sleep is what you wish to do, sleep then is all I wish for you. To sleep please go me lady.”

“My gratitude my sire.” The woman curtsied. “Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight me lady.”

With that again the woman curtseyed then into the night she dissolved and disappeared. The man turned and entered his room and closed the door.

The man awoke, staring up at the ceiling, he looked out the window, the sky black, it was still night. He pulled out and lit a cigarette, then drank from his cup of vodka. Straight liquor coursing into his stomach like a blade.

He grimaced then poured some more. Then some more he drank, smoking his cigarette, tapping ashes into a cup of water. He realized he needed to urinate. And so he stood, and began walking to the bathroom. He never made it. He forgot to use his walker and so tumbled to the floor. And so on the floor he remained. And on the floor he pissed on himself, and remain there he did, until a new day did arise.

Oh thank the lord a new day has come.

Tied to his bed, his cross to bear, his love to share, no longer care, as the days they wear and tear, cutting so far past the bone, never a ringing on the phone, dead in pocket, around neck like a locket, of dreams he wish could be. A life that would never be…

The death of dreams and everything. Calamity decay. The death of dreams and everything. As all things fade away…

Dreams of happy, dreams of hope, dreams always dangling, end of the rope, dreams of life, dreams of gain, dreams will only ever end in pain…

Death it came and it caressed, the already dead upon the bed, words are spoken to be said, serenades within the head, to lull fantasy to sleep. Sit in your corner as you weep. Awaken to a new day. As all dreams fade away…

The man stood out on the balcony, leaning against the railing, smoking a cigarette. To his left the exit sign flickered and flashed with a hum. A sign obviously there merely for decoration for no one ever actually leaves Motel Hell. Upon the sign was perched a raven, and at the wall it stared, chest pressing against the wall. As it did every night. The man finished his cigarette, tossing it to the ground below. He turned his walker and entered his room and closed the door.

Sometimes you cannot see the stars, even when they’re there. Sometimes you only see a pit, in a life that’s never fair. Sometimes you can only stand and blindly stare. At the wall. To which you’re led. The dreams of the already dead…Sometimes clouds cover the canopy. All that will ever be. Empty, hollow, forever follow, the path unto the end…

The man awoke upon his bed. Morning sun within the sky. Four birds swirled in figure eight’s, then like stones dropped to the ground, without a sound. A kiss goodnight, to flight. But what did any of it ever matter. They only ever flew from here to here. Forever wishing they could just disappear.

Angels tread. Within the land, of the dead. So that they might, denizens give peek, at the dreams that they seek. But these images are only pain and rot. For these dreams always will be not. You’ll never gain a single thing. Misery is all that life will bring. Hear the sirens start to sing. Drowning beneath the tides…

The man just lay there on the bed, visions smiling in his head, at first seem happy, then wicked turn, and within the visions the man did burn…

He pulled out and lit a cigarette then picked up a bottle of vodka and drank as he lay upon the bed and the minutes crawled their way into hours, the metamorphosis of wasted time, the same old lines of the same old rhyme, as more cigarettes were turned ashes to ashes, and vodka swilled turned dust to dust, a heart that can only rust, in a sea of misery, holding on tight to dreams that will never be. Wishing it could be free, of that which tears it apart. A bleeding, broken, empty heart. Dead since birth. Never had a start. Victim of the plague, raging around the cart, so paraded through the streets. The dead were meant to be seen, not heard. Fitting, for no one ever heard a single word. The romance of pain and the absurd.

Eventually the man faded to black and to sleep he fell. Another light of day has come and gone here in Motel Hell.

The man stood out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, leaning upon the railing. He turned his head to the left. “Why hello me lady, and how might you be doing on this evening?”

“Trying to find my bearings sire, but knowing not where my bearings are to be found.” she  

responded with a somewhat confused expression.

“Bearings, I have found, are usually found, in the last place you would expect your bearings to be. Though, truth be told, I have, indeed, yet to find my own.”

“I would not expect my bearings to be buried, hidden beneath my bed. Maybe I should look there.” the woman said.

“Would seem, indeed, me lady, a place to start at least.” responded the man.

“Then look there I shall. Thank you sire for the advice.” The apparition then curtsied graciously.

“May your search bear fruit, and be a success, and may your bearings soon be found.”

“Thank you sire. Well then, goodnight then I guess, as I retire to begin my search.”

“Goodnight me lady. Please, when thy search is concluded may well you sleep.” said the man, sincerity coursing through the short sentence.

“Thank you sire, goodbye, goodnight.” The woman’s image dissolved and disappeared, leaving the man alone upon the balcony. He turned and stared ahead, took another drag from his cigarette then tossed it down to the ground below. He turned with his walker. Entered his room and closed the door.

The man raised from his bed to go to the bathroom. To his knees he fell, bloodying them. He steadied himself, hands upon the bed, he tried to pull himself but failed, trying to hold it in. He tried again but failed again. He gave it another try and onto the bed he pulled himself. He sat for a moment then stumbled to the bathroom. He peed into the bowl, not on himself. Thank the lord for small favors.

Where are you, how bout me, dragged beneath an endless sea, rotting on the ocean floor, in the land of nevermore…

Disease infests within the mind, ensuring that all will be blind, and never will they ever find, that they wish to see, never will it be. Lost souls can never be free…

Broken moments from a life, forever feel the twisting knife, within your gut, within your soul, a dream you cannot control, a dream turned nightmare, can’t escape, words of the soul that soul rape…

The man fell to the floor, not remembering even standing up. Guess there was someplace he felt he needed to go. But where that place was, he did not know.  And so down his throat more drinks he did throw, lighting a cigarette.

Outside, voices they did rage, at each other, within their cage, a fight it seems now did engage, soon gunshots echoed in the sky, as several fell down just to die. But what difference does it make, if more lives death does take? It is just population thinning. So be it. Apocalypse is just beginning.

And as fire rains down from up in the sky, lost souls will all wonder why, not why it is they had to die, but why it is they had to cry, every moment of every day. But to our God let us all pray, for he will certainly show the way, and in so doing so save the day. Sanity’s edges start to fray. Then completely tear apart. The screams and dreams of a broken heart.

The man stood out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette. A woman’s voice called from his right. “Hello, can you help me, I’m trying to pay for tonight’s room but I’m five dollars short.”

“Just tell them you’ll pay tomorrow.” the man responded.

“But I won’t have it by tomorrow, and as for tomorrow I won’t have a dime. What am I going to do?” spoke the woman frantically.

“They won’t care, trust me, you’re already here.”

“But they won’t let me stay if I can’t pay, what am I going to do?”

“Would you feel better if I gave you the five?” asked the man.

“Oh, please, thank you, I promise I’ll pay you back.” she graciously responded.

“No, you don’t have to. Five aint gonna make or break me. Take it. But know, come tomorrow, know this, whether you can pay or not, they will not care. You’re already here. That’s all they care about.” the man announced.

“But I don’t want to be here. I have to get on with my life.” said the woman with distress.

“Too late. You’re here. Just try and make the best of it. If you need anything, just ask.”

“I don’t understand.” she responded, confused.

“Nor will you. Though if you did, it would not make any difference.”

“Well, thank you, I mean it.”

“No thank you is necessary. Just rest easy and sleep well, for tomorrow is a new day.”

“And maybe tomorrow I can get out of here.” spoke the woman hopefully.

“Yes, one can always hope.”

The man awoke. Outside it was still dark. He stared into the opaque sky. Nothing stared back…All was silent, all was still, waiting moments, searching their kill, and that they’ll find before the night’s complete, another life born only to defeat. So sit back and take your seat. The show’s about to start…

A girl came walking along the balcony, maybe 9 or 10, appearing quite confused. She rotated around outside the man’s window, scanning in all directions. Inside, she saw the man awake, knocked on his window and spoke. “Excuse me, can you help me. I’m looking for my mommy.”

The man raised from the bed and stumbled to the door and opened it. “Hello”, he said, “would you like to come into the room so you can sit? You seem upset.”

“Um, yes, thank you, can’t remember the last time I did sit.” The little girl walked into the man’s room and sat down upon a chair. “I’m looking for my mommy. She should be around here, but I don’t know where she is. Why can’t I find her?” said the girl, obviously distressed.

“Look, sit, relax. You see, the things we wish to be found in life, are not then found just because we wish them to be. Sometimes, they are gone. That’s just how it is around here.”  

“What, no, what are you saying?’ The little girl’s eyes began to tear. “No. my mommy’s not gone, she’s somewhere here, I just have to find her, then all we be good.”

“Do you know what room you’re in?” asked the man.

“Yes, 618.” she answered.

“Then go back and get some sleep. Rest. There’s nothing else you can do this night. So just go back and sleep and put your mind at ease. Tomorrow is another day. All you can do is wait until then. You seem so very tired. Please, just go back and get some sleep. There’s nothing more you can do now. Trust me.”

“Well, ah, o.k. I guess. So then I’ll find my mommy tomorrow?” the little girl asked.

“Just go sleep. Rest. Tomorrow is tomorrow. You need sleep.” The man answered.

“Um, o.k., guess I can sleep a bit and search again tomorrow. Um, thank you.”

And with that the girl left and the conversation was ended, a conversation that had played out verbatim, hundreds of times before.

The man stood on the balcony, sipping from a cup of vodka, smoking a cigarette. He turned to his left. “Why hello me lady, and how does the night find you.”

“Oh from the night I play hide and seek so that the night can find me not.” she answered.

“A wise strategy indeed I’d say me lady, for the good the night has brought is naught, regardless of how hard you fought, misery is all that it has brought.”

“The night my sire, I must agree, has always seemed a wicked soul. Edging onward to gain control. And roll me down into a pit. Where I can’t even find the air to breathe. But can the night even do that sire?” she asked.

“Indeed it can. Indeed it will me lady. So tis good to know when to stray from its path, so that me lady does not feel its wrath. So that its evil thou shalt not face. Instead, wrapped up warm, happiness embrace. That is what I wish for you me lady.”

She curtsied. “Why thank you so my sire. Kinder words I think have never been spoken.”

“I speak but the truth, and can do no else. I wish only thou may be forever happy, and that no harm nor ill ever come to thee.”

“I,” she got a nervous look “must retire to my room, if it is alright with my sire of course.”

“As you wish me lady. May thine sleep be restful, peaceful, and content. Till next we meet again, be well.”

“Thank you my sire, goodnight.” The apparition curtsied, dissolved and disappeared. The man turned and hobbled into his room and closed the door.

The sun shone down with rays so bright, signaling the end of night, starting another blessed day of pestilence and blight. Early to bed and early to rise leads to a day you’re guaranteed to despise. The man stepped out onto the balcony. A flock of crows at that moment came racing down the balcony, furiously batting their wings, darting to the sides at the last instant to avoid the man, one striking him in the arm, then all swooping and looping away from the balcony and up into the sky. From which all then fell. Dead and to the ground. Ah yes, will life’s wonders never cease.

Motel Hell. Where the angels fell. Now forever resting silent on the ground below. Motel Hell. When you want a really shitty time. The only place to go and stay. A bible in every room. So that the denizens can pray…

Oh heart, there you are, at 12:26PM. Tell me heart, how dost it feel to be so torn apart, empty, shredded, broken, hollow, because of the dreams you tried to follow and bitter pills you had to swallow, while within torment you did wallow? Heart, what is it, why so down?...

The man sat on his bed, sipping vodka from a cup, as daylight gradually dissolved outside, slowly turning to night. Another day has turned to rot. Another day wish forgot.

Dreams of not, dreams of aint, pretty pictures try to paint. With words you your story tell, soliloquies in motel hell. Reminiscing of that memory. But shattered above is the canopy. A choice was made. No turning back. Forevermore staring into the black. Nothingness it takes its toll. On the empty hollow soul…

The man was standing on the balcony, drinking from a cup of vodka, smoking a cigarette.

Night having fully descended. The elevator pinged and the door opened. There then exited a nun, dressed in full costume, who came walking solemnly down the walkway, her hands clasped together, a crucifix and a lit candle in between. She appeared somewhere in her eighties, her steps languid and slow. She continued walking until she reached the man. She stopped and stared at him. She punched him in the face. Then continued walking again, eventually disappearing into her room. The man finished off his drink. “Not entirely sure why she always does that.” spoke the man out loud, took the last drag of his cigarette and flung it to the ground below, then turned and went into his room, closing the door.

The night carried on into the late hours, the man laying on his bed, drinking, smoking cigarettes. At some point he turned off the lights to attempt to get to sleep and then in the bed he lay, drinking more. The hours passed but he could not fall asleep. At some point he sat up to light a cigarette. When he did he noticed a figure standing outside the window, looking in. It was a man, and he was standing so as to be mostly obscured by the half open curtain, and into the darkened room he stared. The man stared back. Apparently within the darkness, the figure could not tell he was doing so, and so into the room the figure stood and stared. The man could not make out the face of the figure standing outside the window. It was all a blur. The figure’s arms hung down motionless at his sides. He was thin. The man sat there staring at the man outside as the man outside continued to just stand there without moving, staring into the room. The man raised from the bed to get a better look but in a flash the figure outside was gone, disappearing past the curtains. But in that moment, the man did see, outside the window, beneath the window itself, where the wall was, as the figure disappeared to the side, there were no legs. The man closed the curtain then lay back down again, drinking until finally sleep it came.

The man awoke unto the day. Weight crushing him down into the bed. From the thoughts within his head. The price he had to pay. For the words he had to say. And go away to a nothing space. Dwell within this wretched place. Welcome to Motel Hell…The hours peeled away, bringing an end to the sun, and the birth of night…

“How hath thou been my sire?” The apparition spoke from one door down, to the man, standing upon the balcony, beneath the night, drinking from his cup, smoking a cigarette. “Why hello me lady. To answer your question, I have been as how I’ve been and how I’ve been is how I be. But how about you me lady. How hath thou been?”

“Much the same as you I suppose.”

“Well I certainly hope that is not the case.”

“I mean, in the sense of I have been as I have been, however I have been. But then, have you not been well then?” she asked.

“Down a well I suppose.” he answered.

“A well?” confused, she asked.

“Indeed.”

“But then, how will you get out?”

“Do not suppose I will me lady.” he answered.

“But, why my sire?”

“Matters not. Please tell me, honestly, how are you feeling me lady?” the man asked.

“Um, strange, now that you mention it. My stomach, feels all torn. My lungs, they do not

seem to work as they should. I have a cough, get dizzy, do not know what’s wrong with me.”

“Why there is nothing at all wrong with you me lady, you art nature’s perfect gift.” declared the man.

She smiled then curtsied then spoke. “Why thank you sire. To think that one as lowly as me should receive such words from one such as you. I do not know what it is that I should do.”

“It is I who be the lowly one me lady, thou art beauty in an ugly land, one day I wish to kiss thy hand, and, after, maybe, many funny quips. Hopefully kiss thy lips.”

She blushed heavily. “Oh me, oh my. Um, um, um, I, ah, have to be going back to my room, forgot that I, ah, had laundry to do.”

“Very well then me lady. May your laundry doing go well.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Well,” She curtsied with a bashful smile. “Goodnight my sire.”

“Goodnight me lady. May well you sleep.” As the man’s words ended, she dissolved and disappeared into the night. The man walked into his room and closed the door.

He lay upon his bed as the darkness passed down the drain. The man just lay there. Inside his heart feeling pain. And the night began to wane. Trying to cling to the sky with sharpened nails. But ultimately the sun prevails, and the night it does replace. Smiling down upon the world with a now bloody face…

The man stood out on the balcony. The morning sun shone down heavily. There was then the day. You know what, fuck the day. The day came and went, time well spent. Darkness now painted the sky.

The man was on the balcony. He was smoking a cigarette, drinking vodka from a cup. The elevator pinged and then emerged a quite pretty woman, dressed in a flowing white wedding gown, carrying a bouquet of roses, long tail of the gown, stretching far behind. She walked along the balcony until she reached the man then stopped. “Congratulate me will you, I just got married.” she said.

“Congratulations then. Who’s the lucky groom?” responded the man.

The woman looked at the man with a peculiar look. “Well, there is no groom.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, then the, what, other bride, forgive me, not sure what the terminology would be.”

“Why I am.” said the woman.

“You?”

“Yes, I married myself because I realized I was the only person I could ever truly love.”

“Oh, o.k. then, I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“Actually we’re not, we fight all the time and don’t get along at all. I think that actually, deep down, she hates me.” announced the woman.

“But then, why would she marry you.”

“I think she just wants me for my body.”

“I see. It seems your relationship has issues. Have you, I don’t know, considered counseling maybe?” offered the man.

“I’ve tried, but she won’t go with me. She just sits on the couch all day, eating fig newtons, and drinking Perrier. All of which she buys with my money because she of course has

none of her own. You know I don’t see how this can possibly work.”

“Um, what is it you’re going to do then?”

“Get a divorce.” With these words the woman tossed the bouquet of flowers over the railing. “I guess marriages don’t always work out do they.” With these words the woman climbed over the railing and leapt to the ground below, striking with an audible thud, even from six floors above. The trail of her gown stretching upwards as she fell, as if seeming to try to grab the railing and pull her back up. But it did not. Instead flowing down through the air and with the woman to the ground below. The man sighed. He stood upon the balcony until he finished his cigarette and drink then tossed both the cigarette and cup to the ground below. “My condolences to the bride. Love is not always what it seems.” spoke the man out loud before turning with his walker and going into his room, closing the door.

And so then arrived another day above the dealings, lives writhing beneath, within the tomb of their feelings. Shedding tears they can no longer cry. Desperately awaiting that moment when they can die. And just be done with it all, with all of it, to put an end to a life of shit. But on and on instead it goes. Final resolution, when, who knows. Left twisting in misery throes. Buried beneath the summer snows. And so it goes, and so it goes. An Indian Mile with broken toes, feet, ankles, legs, as the wasted, withered, pathetically begs, for that chance to hope to dream, put an end to the ripping scream, that tears you open from inside, ugly truths from which you cannot hide, and on and on goes on the ride, you’ll never make it to the other side. You’ll never make it past the wall. So on and on you will continue crawl. And forever you will fall. Even when sprawled upon the floor. Seeking something more you crawled. From here to here to nowhere. As everything begins to tear. All ripping at the seams. Putting punctuation, final end, to delusion dreams. Delusion, contusion, confusion? Which way is up or down? Morbid frown upon a clown. The serial killer in a happy town. Taking all the newborn down. Those the children, births of Hope, Happiness, Dreams, Smiles, and the Future. Though Dr. Nothing apply a suture. Patient bleeding profusely down the well. Another day in Motel Hell…

Fuck off.

The man sat on his bed, staring out at the darkened sky. Inside he began to cry. The reason why? Fuck off. It’s personal and is his own. A pain that cuts unto the bone. From images in his head have shown. Those that can never be. So in torment the man does lie, dreaming only that he could die, because of the images he does see. Those he knows will never be. So cry inside unto the end. Pain it be your only friend. No longer can you play pretend. It grips you with its cold embrace. Reality you have to face. Memories you can’t erase. Where then is that happy place, you journeyed, climbed to find. Only ever in your mind. The hopeful visions of the blind. Illusions you will never find. Life is cruel, not ever kind. For he forever torn asunder, beneath the sky’s non ending thunder, always pound down and down, driving you into the ground, where you then lay, not make a sound. And around and around it goes. When will it stop? Nobody knows. And so on and on and on it goes…  

And on and on and on it goes…

And on and on and on it goes…

And on and on and on it goes…

And on and on and on it goes…

The man stood on the balcony, leaning against the railing, smoking a cigarette, sipping from a cup of vodka. A woman’s shriek rang out from a distant floor.

“Oh my! Sire, that sounds like someone in distress does it not?”

The man turned to his left. “Hello me lady. Yes, I suppose it does.”

“Do you think she is in trouble?”

“I would imagine she is unfortunately.”

“Is there anything we might do?”

“No. I’m afraid, me lady, in life, we are powerless to effect a change, or events rearrange into a better outcome, we can either stand and watch or turn and look away, there is nothing we can do or say to alter it. What will be will be. Even if that which it is we do not wish to see.” was his answer.

“But, but, my sire, forgive me for saying so, but that can’t be true. There must be something we can do.”

The man looked at her as a tear escaped and crawled done his face. “I dearly wish there was me lady. But there is not. We can only stand paralyzed as events unfold, even if we would give our lives and soul to change them. It’s all just a wicked, scripted tragic play, within which our actions, words, already written, the ending of which already penned.”

She coughed heavily, for a long period. “Please forgive me sire, it’s this cough. I don’t know why it will not rid me of its presence. And I am feeling so weak, so tired all the time.”

“I know.” Two word reply.

“I apologize for the disruption to our conversation.” she said.

“Apologize for nothing, for you have naught to apologize for, unless me lady wishes to apologize for being the only bright spot of my days.”

She smiled a bashful smile and curtsied, but as she did, she stumbled, grabbing the railing to keep herself up. “Again, sorry my sire.”

“Please, me love, no more sorries.”

“Your love?” She grinned a wide, happy, bashful smile.

“Yes. Days around here, they, unfold one into the next, but never really change, always the same, pre-ordained moves upon a chess board, slowly dragging through the hours, in a game that can’t be won. Surrounded by ugliness, and disdain, embraced by emptiness and pain. But within that there were those moments. When out here I could stand with me lady, and when I did be free of it all. So I thank you most humbly and graciously me lady for those gifts thou hath given me. For granting me moments where I could truly be free.”

Again she smiled and curtsied, but as she did, again violently she coughed, again grabbing the railing to balance herself. “Forgive me again my sire. I do not know what is wrong.”

“Again, no more apologies. There is nothing to apologize for.” He stood and just stared upon her. “Me lady, might I ask a favor of you?”

“Anything my sire.”

“Might you grant me just one little kiss?” he asked.

“A kiss. I, I.” She smiled the bashful smile. “I, well, indeed my sire if you wish to touch the lips of one as lowly as I.” her response.

“That I do me lady.” He turned away from his walker and stepped to her. He cradled her

face in his hands and then gently kissed her upon the lips, then just stood, staring in her eyes, she smiling a wide and bashful smile. She then immediately dissolved from in front of him, disappearing into the night. The man took the couple steps back to his walker, stumbling slightly as he did. He leaned back against the railing and stared out upon the night. He pulled out and lit a cigarette and picked back up his cup of vodka and just stood there alone upon the balcony, drinking and smoking, staring into the darkness around. A tear escaped from his eye. And then another. And then another. He wiped his eyes dry. He finished his cigarette, finished his drink, tossed the cigarette to the ground below, turned with his walker and entered his room and closed the door.

 


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