#420ps

Doc: I'd like to talk about your childhood.

Miserable. Next?

Doc: By all accounts that is where your fascination with riddles began. I believe discussing those years could explain your compulsive behavior.

Very well...My father hated me. Always called me a moron. 

Doc: I see.

I was determined to prove him wrong, so I entered a contest at school. A twenty dollar prize to the kid who could figure out an almost impossible logic problem. I won, of course.

Doc: And that pleased your father?

Hardly. He was convinced I had cheated. He kept yelling "You must have cheated! Admit it, you moron! You cheated!" I swore I didn't and he hit me for lying.

Doc: I'm sorry to hear that Edin.

The wind whistles through the otherwise silent cornfield, blowing the stalks about and exposing the once smoldering wreck of a military helicopter. It lies on it's side and three carbonized corpses hang from it's windows motionless, I stare at their blank expressions with mild wonder. The sun is at the point where it isn't quite setting, but just casting long rays, making shadows grow to huge lengths, like monsters following you continuously. My mind often wonders as such; in a world with no one to converse with.

Before the incident, I had friends. Countless friends. I was young too, and then since the incident, they dropped away. People I loved, my firends, my lovers, my acquaintances and my family. They just started disappearing, and slowly everyone on this beautiful planet did. Even the animals, fish, dogs, cats, birds... anything living disappeared. I saw it too, my dear friends had even popped out of existence in front of my very eyes, a cold feeling enveloped me, and when I turned, they had just disappeared, leaving lonely shadowy figures behind, where they once stood. 

No matter how sociable or lonesome you are, becoming totally isolated destroys your world; when the very people you build your life on just leave, the foundations of your being fall apart. When you love someone, or hang aronud with them all the time and grow to know them inside out, for them to just leave and for you never to see them again was the worst feeling ever; the feeling of emptiness. It is loneliness itself. After a week or so, the TV's and internet disappeared too, and the power stations shut off. I remained, watching the men, women and children follow after them. Into the dark void.

Soon, I yearned to follow too. I didn't want to die totally alone or live my life wondering the silent world, I wanted them back. Then I started dreaming about disappearing, all being united in some wonderful world where everyone get's along and we all live happily ever after. These dreams were what kept my sanity. It seemed that all the people around me who didn't disappeared where becoming in-human. No long did they show emotions, they sped around in cars screaming profanities or weeped in corners. Apon my approach to them, they would run away at full pelt.

At one time, I even tried to top myself. I jumped off a bridge, into the cold waters below. But my instincts took over and I swam to the banks. I just wouldn't let myself die, death was an uncertainty, disappearing wasn't. I just wanted to see them again, live long enough to be erased and be with them. Everytime I thought of the possiblity that we wouldn't meet again, I ignored it totally. To give up hope was to give up life. But after a month, everything felt like one huge sadistic cosmic joke. Why couldn't I just be erased? Become nothing, become one with the others. It was all I thought about, day and night.

When someone leaves this world, they leave all their clothes and fillings behind, only the soul and the physcial living body departed. I burned all my friends clothes, I didn't want to remember the days of joy and togetherness. I become insular and eventually started talking to myself, making my mind into various factions. Unshaven I was almost an animal, thinking of survival only. And eventually, I came across this helicopter. 

My whole life was excess, women, drugs, cars, money, masturbating, drinking, watching and doing. Always far too much for anyone, but never enough for me. You know that feeling, when you have it all, and just want more? You get addicted to the success, and when $1,000,000 isn’t enough, you take the roll of the dice, give the world the finger, and play on. You win. And keep on winning. It doesn’t take long, until you’ve doubled your winnings. That orgasmic feeling, when the roulette wheel lands on your number! You take the table, you cash in. Grab the chips from that fucking redneck, from the hot blonde and the fat, sweaty Chinese man, all alike. Vanquish everyone. But I didn’t get out in time, I kept playing. I was on fire, and when I lost $500,000, someone put me out. I lost it all, and smashed my hotel room up. That was the low, winning a life changing amount and then fucking it all up when you blow it all. Sure, I won it back, but then I just blew it all again, on the cars and women of Vegas. I didn’t care for love or commitment, as always, it was just the mad dash for pleasure, and risky fun. As soon as the pleasure ran down again like the unwinding clock, I was back inside the craps rooms and the blackjack tables, the chips set and the arm candy by my side.

As usual, it didn’t last. On one night, high and heated with cocaine and temperament, I flew into a rage when I lost everything, $10,000,000 and my prized car. I kicked the room apart, and tearing and ripping my way through, I punched up the dealer. Kicked out on my ass, my favourite casino no longer welcoming me, I went back to my home. My fucking stupid gambling had made me lose everything. All that mattered, my money and the means to enjoy it with, the creature comforts that drove my hurricane lifestyle had been cruelly withdrawn, and I hated it. Any normal person would have controlled themselves, held back the impulse to spend, spend, and spend. And instead they would have saved, saved, saved, living in a condo with three kids and a fat wife who won’t even fuck you anymore. Not me, oh no. I had a mid life crisis, and for some reason that crisis afflicted me when I was young, and it never left. In my darkest moments, however, I felt something new. It wasn’t the cash that drove me; it was the thrill. Hedonistic as it sounds, the risk of losing it all was what turned me on, the moment I placed the bet, played the stock markets and bluffed the poker tables, it was like a million volts coursing through my balls.

So, grabbing the few thousand I had left, I took a cab to the nearest casino, a new one I hadn’t played in before. Barging in rudely, I placed a simple bet on the roulette wheel, enticing me once again. Waiting a few moments, and I won $800. But it didn’t concern me; my experience showed it could all be pissed away in ten minutes anyhow. The thrill of putting all my earthily goods at risk for the simple pleasure of betting and winning was too high. I was a fucking moron, but I liked it. Being stupid was what kept me away from suburban life and desk jobs, and kept me in with cocaine and hand jobs. It was WHAT made me. It was me. And the dice was my saviour, bringing meaning to empty life and boredom. And so, I rode the waves of lady luck, taking my inheritance and items to fuel the addiction. But soon enough, I lost all identity. All hours of the night, I was using the slot machines, winning, losing, blowing money and time. And then, I was banned. It was because I beat up a pit boss for insinuating I was a bloody cheater! Cheating took all the fun and thrill away, of course I didn’t. But he didn’t care, and one beaten and bloodied pit boss later, I was blacklisted from all casinos in Nevada, for life.