7
Adolf opened his eyes.
“Am I dead?” He pondered.
It took him a minute to assess what was happening. Anxiety began to overwhelm Adolf, but the anxiety quickly melted away into nothingness. Before he knew it, he had no feelings other than serenity. He was blinded by an intense golden light that seemed to resonate from everywhere. He could not sense what was up or what was down. There was no left or right. There was only forwards and backwards; and he felt as if he was hurtling forwards.
It was the strangest of sensations. He did not need to breathe. He could not smell, hear, feel, touch or see anything except light. He was blinded by the light.
He knew there was a forwards and a backwards, but he could only go forwards.
It was as if he was on a train in a tunnel stuck moving in one direction. He felt free; as if he had left his body and all the suffering that comes with it.
He was filled with such happiness.
It is hard to describe. Imagine how you feel when you are in a pitch black room. You feel isolated and alone. Adolf felt the opposite of that.
He felt connected.
I feel connected
To feel truly connected in such a way is a foreign feeling for so many of us.
For Adolf though he had only ever felt connected to his country.
A country is just a geographical region, an idea which is a great divider in this world.
Everyone is born somewhere, and that’s what separates us...
Adolf hurtled forward, faster and faster. No time elapsed for him, only distance. At no point did he stop to think about what had become of Eva who had been left alone. Although it was true that he did care for her. He just didn’t care that much.
Adolf was preoccupied with wondering where he was travelling to. He could not have known where he would end up, or why. He was travelling forward, towards death… but not his.
8
The Man remembers more of his first memory; a memory where he is a boy. The boy travels back to the outside of the barn, where he stands alone and scared. Two dark shadows descend from the sky towards the boy. They eerily float down towards him. The shadows have a basic human form, but as they get closer the boy sees they are monstrous creatures. They are pale creatures, with thin bony arms and withered legs. Both wear black cloaks that cover their faces and most of their body. The boy thinks he is dreaming and can only stand there in fear as they approach. It is no dream.
A gust of wind causes the cloaks to fall back and their faces are revealed. Their true nature is exposed. It is unbelievable for the boy, who is now overcome with fright.
Both creatures bear familiar faces; the faces of his father and the other man. The apparitions both have white hair. They both have no nose, the faces are flat and the mouth was just a slit as if someone had got a carving knife and cut a mouth from flesh.
The boy will never forget those faces, those horrific contorted faces. He would have screamed if he hadn’t been frozen in both fear and shock.
The wraith with his father’s face opens its mouth. It is more like a stretching of the face downwards than a movement from a joint. Its widened maw is on full view as it twists its face ready to consume the boy whole. Without warning it flies towards the boy. The boy can only wait in dread as his end draws near.
Just as he thinks it is about to end, he sees from the corner of his eye his father; his real father and not the doppelganger.
No longer afraid or scared he turns towards his father who is standing at the top of the barn. The wraith with the widened maw does not see the boy’s father. It is too preoccupied with the small meal that stands before it.
His father jumps off the top of the barn with a sword in his hand; his second self does not stand a chance.
It happens too fast for the boy to see.
He sees his father standing on the ground, holding one hand out to him, and with the other he sheathes his sword.
The boy turns to look at the wraith. It is frozen on the spot, as if in awe.
The wraith that resembled the other man watches with intrigue until the frozen wraith suddenly falls apart as if cut down the middle, and then it vanishes into dust.
The last remaining wraith turns to see the other man running out of the barn with sword in hand ready to cut it down.
He takes a few swings at it but does not manage to make a connection.
The boy and his father watch. His father will not interfere. It is not his fight.
It is not his fight!
The wraith begins to mimic his opponent, as it weaves and dodges each swing of the sword.
“I have you now” cries the other man.
He swings his sword down upon his doppelganger, but to his surprise the sword stops a few inches short from decimating his foe. The wraith has parried the attack with a sword of similar shape and size.
After realising he has been parried the other man smiles. The wraith reciprocates with a crooked smile, a grimace.
He takes another swing at the wraith, but it moves backwards and takes flight. All he can do is watch as his doppelganger slowly disappears behind the big tree and into the darkness.
“Shit! It got away” the other man screams.
That is where the Man’s memory ends.
“You forgot something” the Boy says to the Man.
The Man thinks about it for a second and then says “The other man, his hair turned white after he fought his dark half.”
The Boy looks at the Man judgingly; he always judges the Man.
He asks the Man “and why is this important?”
The Man lies “I don’t know...”
The Man looks around, all he sees is desert. He continues walking north, towards the mountain which he cannot see, but he knows it is there. He continues to walk, knowing that if he stops he will die. This is an unforgiving desert; the Man knows this because the Boy told him.
The Man will not stop; he will not be beaten by this desert.
“You will not be beaten by this desert” the Boy says reassuringly.
The Man pats himself down checking that his many guns are still there, while trying not to let the Boy see his uncertainty.
“Don’t worry, you will only need one to kill the man with the white hair” the Boy says.
Nothing gets past the Boy, he knows the Mans every thought and action. In contrast the Boy is a mystery to the Man. The Man only knows what the Boy wants him to know.
The Man looks around, all he sees is desert but he knows he is getting closer. He can feel it.
9
No one knew for sure, but a devil was on its way. It was the 27th of August and New Orleans was beginning to descend into chaos in anticipation for the incoming hurricane named Katrina. The so called “Hitler massacre” had covered the news for the last few weeks. The media circus had done a short segment on Maris as the lone survivor. He had to do a short interview on behalf of the police department. He was thankful that they were happy to just play the same interview on repeat over and over. Being hounded by the media is something he could not take. Every time the segment came up on the news Maris felt disheartened as it reminded him of the survivor’s guilt he felt. To make matters worse the man responsible for the massacre was still wanted and had vanished without a trace, although much of what really happened had been blacked out from the media.
Who was this man? Why did he do it? How did one lone gunman kill so many? Why were the police and Special Forces helpless to stop him? Those were many of the unanswered questions. Maris himself wanted… needed answers.
All Maris had surmised was what the papers and news channels knew, which was not much. Conflicting reports and a lack of eye witnesses made the events that occurred almost impossible to piece together. One popular theory was that the Hitler gunman was killed in the final explosion that occurred, although there was no trace of explosive damage in the area where the man was standing and no body.
It was 11am when Maris sluggishly arose that morning and picked up the whiskey bottle he kept beside his bed. As soon as he grabbed the bottle he felt that something was wrong. He looked and saw that it was empty. Maris was perplexed; it had been three quarters full when he went to bed. He couldn’t have drunk it all, and no one else was there.
“Keep it together Blackson! Keep it together.”
He left his bedroom and quickly dashed downstairs straight towards the liquor cabinet.
All the curtains and blinds had been closed, but this was not enough to stop rays of sunlight piercing through into Maris Blackson’s hideaway. When not at work he would be in his house hiding from the outside world; escaping from the cold hard reality of what had transpired, running away from existing. On his off days he would sit in front of the television drinking beer or whiskey, sometimes both. On rare occasions he would venture to a certain bar where he knew no one would find him. Life for him had gone from being okay to being almost unbearable; he kept up a facade at work, telling his colleagues that he was fine and wanted to catch this “cocksucker”, but deep down inside he was afraid. He missed having an okay life.
A look of consternation crept over Maris’ face as he approached the liquor cabinet.
“Empty???”
The liquor cabinet contained empty bottles of what drinks once previously resided there. Maris looked around and checked all the doors and windows. There was no sign of forced entry. It could only have been one person.
“MacGuffin!!!” Maris exclaimed.
Detective MacGuffin was one of Maris’ closest friends, and the only person other than himself with a key to the house. MacGuffin would sometimes crash at Maris’ house after nights out. Maris thought to himself that MacGuffin must have come into the house in the middle of the night and emptied all of his alcohol down the sink. It was the only explanation he could think of. He did not know why MacGuffin would do this, unless of course MacGuffin had found out that he was growing more and more dependent on alcohol as each day passed. Maris wondered if it truly was MacGuffin who had done this and how he had found out about his alcohol addiction.
“MacGuffin MacGuffin MacGuffin” Maris repeated manically.
Maris was feeling petulant. He paced up and down the hallway in a frenzied manner before finally cooling off. He sat down and pondered what to do next. He couldn’t spend his weekend off work with no alcohol.
“Grab your keys Maris, we’re rolling” he said to himself.
He got up, grabbed his car keys and put on a jacket over his shoulder holster. Maris had resolved to drive to the liquor store and get some sweet whiskey. He wasn’t going to let anyone ruin his weekend.
While driving he flicked through the radio stations.
“…declares a state of emergency…”
Hearing nothing but hurricane warnings he turned on the CD player. It was Vanessa Carlton’s “A thousand miles.”
“Yeahhhh! This will brighten my mood” Maris thought.
He was a Vanessa Carlton fan (but really, who isn’t?)
“Ha ha ha! I would travel a thousand miles to get some whiskey” Maris Chuckled.
He felt strangely good. It was a strange feeling as he hadn’t felt good in what felt like a very long time. He felt high. That kind of high you get from good weed, alcohol, God, or living life and enjoying yourself. Maris thought he felt drunk, but he was in fact feeling happy. Ecstasy had become associated with alcohol; to feel ecstatic without any drugs in his system felt alien. Maybe it was the cool summer’s breeze, the nostalgic song on the radio or post depression bloom. Whatever the reason was, Maris felt great.
“I feel great” Maris proclaimed.
He thought about the Hitler massacre that had recently transpired. He thought about his dead friends and colleagues. Maris felt grateful to be alive, yet a feeling of guilt still lingered. He still had friends, a job, a home, and his health.
“I can’t keep on going like this.”
We all make mistakes but we can also realise those mistakes
The roads were eerily quiet as Maris pulled his car over to the side of the road. With the engine still running he sat there thinking. He contemplated his life, what it meant, where it was going. His train of thought led him to a memory of MacGuffin.
Maris was off sick with mononucleosis for over a week. When he returned to his office he found a life size cardboard cut out of himself. MacGuffin had got it to cover Maris’ workload.
“Classic MacGuffin!” he mused.
Maris looked down at his hands, they were shaking. He was itching for another drink. He knew he was at a crossroads. The winds began to gain strength as he sat there in his car. Two choices were present in his mind; go home or go to the liquor store. The former was chosen and he turned his car around with newly gathered resolve. He was going to stop depending on alcohol to get him through the day, and he was going to get the help he needed.
Then he thought “Fuck it! A Saturday with no whiskey is no Saturday to me. I’ll stop drinking after the weekend” and so he turned the car around once more to head towards the liquor store where he would start his day of insobriety.
Other works
Dreamscapes & Heartbreaks
@RiskDebonair
Irish Writer, Poet, & Lover
