A Modern Myth
Tonight's the Last
“I want out.”
“You want out? What d’you mean, you want out?”
He stared at her mindlessly, feeling anxious on the inside, but never letting it show.
“What? You got cold feet? Well, you’re gonna have to deal with that, boy. You’ve already committed to doing this, and you know what happens when big guns doesn’t get his way. He’ll feed you to the fishes so fast, your head’ll be spinning.” She wagged her finger in his face while spewing out all these threats that she obviously cannot tell he cares nothing about.
He put his hands to stop her. “Look, I said I want out. I can’t deal with this shit anymore. It’s stupid.”
“Stupid? You better not let him hear you callin’ this whole thing stupid. If anyone’s stupid, it’s you! You’re gonna get your head chopped off.”
He turned away, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the skin at the ridge of his nose.
She started to talk again, but by now, he was more than good at drowning people he didn’t want to hear out. With his hand still held up to her, as if he could somehow will her to stop talking, he walked past her, grabbed his jacket off the chair by the door, and walked out the hotel room, closing the door behind him as he went. And he was off. Off to his place of solitude. Off to a place away from this crazy world which had become his reality.
The streets of Manhattan were dark and muggy on the way home. The manholes let off steam as he passed. This was supposed to be a beautiful city, but he knew better. This place was filled with shit, just like the rest of the world. Everything took on a greenish tint at night, especially on the upper east side of town. Bums lined the street on his way home, holding out a cup with their heads pointed toward the ground, barely hanging on to the hope that maybe someone would come along and drop a few quarters in there. But he just walked right past. He didn’t exactly have a lot of money of his own, and why should he care about anyone but himself? It’s not like that had ever gotten him anywhere in the past. No, screw that. You gotta watch out for yourself because it sure as hell aint gonna be someone else looking at for you.
He approached the stoop that lead to his studio apartment. Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out the key, unlocks the door, and steps inside the place he calls home. It isn’t much, but it sure beats living on the streets like the bums he just passed. He sighs as he slips off his coat and throws it on his bed. Only a few more steps bring him to the liquor cabinet. He opens the door and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels. A small smirk rises on the right side of his lips. His eyes shine as he goggles at the bottle like a newborn child. “Hello, old friend,” he says in a sweet with a side of desperate voice.
He pours himself a glass and downs it immediately. This aint no time for messing around. Another glass slides smoother down his throat. The third he sips.
Sitting the glass on the stand beside his bed, he kicks off his shoes and goes into the bathroom. For a minute, he stares at his reflection in the mirror until it blurs and he no long recognizes this person staring back at him. He raises his hand to touch that person, but then just grabs it and opens the medicine cabinet. He pulls out a bottle with a long and complicated name written on it in sharpie. When he pushes the cap off with his thumb, it makes a popping noise. There are four pills left. Placing the bottle to his lips, he tilts his head back and swallows all four. The bottle falls into the sink and he goes to sit on his bed.
He washes down the pills with his old friend, lays back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and waits.
Vision blurs. World begins to fade. Eyes close slowly. Body goes limp. Heart slows.
Day 1
Eyes open. Vision slowly comes into focus. Muscles twitch. Eyes blink.
He sits up and brings his hands to his eyes, wiping them roughly as if to clear away the sleep.
Looking around, it’s dark. What times is it, he wonders. Eyes squint.
He is surrounded by concrete walls, ceiling, and floor. His bed is gone , and he is alone, wearing a white set of what look like hospital scrubs.
Where am I, he asks himself. What happened?
Looking straight ahead, he realizes there is a mirror hanging from the wall. It looks just like the mirror at his house. Slowly he stands and approaches it. When he looks into it, there is no reflection. He tilts his head to the left. Nothing. To the right. Still nothing.
He touches it. It is cold under his fingertips. He looks behind him to examine the room, and back to the mirror to make sure it is indeed a mirror. The room is reflected perfectly in it.
What is this?
A small tune begins to play. It frightens him. His muscles twitch. He looks up, scanning the ceiling and searching for where the music is coming from. Then he sees it. A small, circular speaker in the ceiling. The tune is monotonous and annoying. He doesn’t like it.
“Hello,” he calls out. “Is anybody there?” There is no answer.
With a sigh, he turns away from the mirror and stares across the room. He notices a small metal box in the far left corner of the room. He goes to it. The box is slightly rusting. He opens it. There is a small note pad and a pen inside. He takes them out and flips through the notebook. All the pages are blank. He lets his body relax a little.
After a while of pacing the room and sitting in different places, he decides to try and go back to sleep, which he succeeds at quite easily.
Day 2
Pace. Pace. Pace.
Look through notebook again, realize there is still nothing.
Pace.
Sit. Sit.
Pace.
Stare in mirror, wishing to see reflection of self.
Sit.
Sleep.
Day 3
Repeat.
Day 4
Eyes open. Look around the room. Immediately notice a door that was not there before. Close eyes. Shake head. Rub eyes. Open. The door is still there.
He gets up and goes to the door. There is no handle on his side. There is a slot that opens toward him. He tries to open it to no avail. Wonders what is going on as the door was definitely not there the previous days. Believes he is going crazy.
Later that day, the slot opens and a plate of food appears through it. When he sees the food, it as if his eyes send a message to his brain, which in turn sends it to his stomach. The stomach replies with a growl. It is not until then when he realizes how hungry he is. Picking up the plate of food, not daring to smell it, he shoves the food in with his hand and swallows, not bothering to chew.
Once the food is gone, he goes to lie back down on the cold concrete floor, staring at the ceiling.
Fade to sleep.
Day 5
Wake up. Realize the door is gone. Run to the place where it was. Feel wall for proof it was there, realize there is none. Feel hopeless.
Pace.
Sit.
Stare in mirror, wishing to see reflection of self.
Bang head against wall.
Sleep.
Day 6
Wake up. See that mirror has tripled in size. Notice that reflection is still not there. Know you are going crazy.
Sit and stare at mirror.
Let mind go blank.
Have epiphany.
He goes to the box and pulls out the pen and notebook. He opens the notebook to the first page, uncaps the pen and writes something on it. Caps the pen. Closes notebook. Places back in the box.
Stands up. Turns to stare at mirror.
“Goodbye,” he whispers, and with a slight twitch of his muscles, he breaks into a dead run at the mirror. Just when he meets the mirror, he feels something wet against his cheek and sits up in his bed, the cup of Jack spilling on his lap. A scent reaches his nose and he realizes that he was laying in his own vomit. When he looks at it, he sees four tiny pills, only slightly dissolved.
Getting up, he goes into his bathroom. There is glass all over the floor. When looking closer, he realizes it is tiny pieces of mirror. He looks up and the mirror that was once on the front of his medicine cabinet is broken into a million pieces.
---
8:15 AM
A woman in London goes to her mailbox. There is a small piece of paper in it. On the piece of paper is a scribble which reads: The secret is out. She turns her head to the left. No one.
8:23 AM
She turns her head to the right, and there she sees a bus rapidly speeding toward her.
---
8:24 AM
A small smirk rises on the right side of his face.
“You want out? What d’you mean, you want out?”
He stared at her mindlessly, feeling anxious on the inside, but never letting it show.
“What? You got cold feet? Well, you’re gonna have to deal with that, boy. You’ve already committed to doing this, and you know what happens when big guns doesn’t get his way. He’ll feed you to the fishes so fast, your head’ll be spinning.” She wagged her finger in his face while spewing out all these threats that she obviously cannot tell he cares nothing about.
He put his hands to stop her. “Look, I said I want out. I can’t deal with this shit anymore. It’s stupid.”
“Stupid? You better not let him hear you callin’ this whole thing stupid. If anyone’s stupid, it’s you! You’re gonna get your head chopped off.”
He turned away, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the skin at the ridge of his nose.
She started to talk again, but by now, he was more than good at drowning people he didn’t want to hear out. With his hand still held up to her, as if he could somehow will her to stop talking, he walked past her, grabbed his jacket off the chair by the door, and walked out the hotel room, closing the door behind him as he went. And he was off. Off to his place of solitude. Off to a place away from this crazy world which had become his reality.
The streets of Manhattan were dark and muggy on the way home. The manholes let off steam as he passed. This was supposed to be a beautiful city, but he knew better. This place was filled with shit, just like the rest of the world. Everything took on a greenish tint at night, especially on the upper east side of town. Bums lined the street on his way home, holding out a cup with their heads pointed toward the ground, barely hanging on to the hope that maybe someone would come along and drop a few quarters in there. But he just walked right past. He didn’t exactly have a lot of money of his own, and why should he care about anyone but himself? It’s not like that had ever gotten him anywhere in the past. No, screw that. You gotta watch out for yourself because it sure as hell aint gonna be someone else looking at for you.
He approached the stoop that lead to his studio apartment. Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out the key, unlocks the door, and steps inside the place he calls home. It isn’t much, but it sure beats living on the streets like the bums he just passed. He sighs as he slips off his coat and throws it on his bed. Only a few more steps bring him to the liquor cabinet. He opens the door and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels. A small smirk rises on the right side of his lips. His eyes shine as he goggles at the bottle like a newborn child. “Hello, old friend,” he says in a sweet with a side of desperate voice.
He pours himself a glass and downs it immediately. This aint no time for messing around. Another glass slides smoother down his throat. The third he sips.
Sitting the glass on the stand beside his bed, he kicks off his shoes and goes into the bathroom. For a minute, he stares at his reflection in the mirror until it blurs and he no long recognizes this person staring back at him. He raises his hand to touch that person, but then just grabs it and opens the medicine cabinet. He pulls out a bottle with a long and complicated name written on it in sharpie. When he pushes the cap off with his thumb, it makes a popping noise. There are four pills left. Placing the bottle to his lips, he tilts his head back and swallows all four. The bottle falls into the sink and he goes to sit on his bed.
He washes down the pills with his old friend, lays back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and waits.
Vision blurs. World begins to fade. Eyes close slowly. Body goes limp. Heart slows.
Day 1
Eyes open. Vision slowly comes into focus. Muscles twitch. Eyes blink.
He sits up and brings his hands to his eyes, wiping them roughly as if to clear away the sleep.
Looking around, it’s dark. What times is it, he wonders. Eyes squint.
He is surrounded by concrete walls, ceiling, and floor. His bed is gone , and he is alone, wearing a white set of what look like hospital scrubs.
Where am I, he asks himself. What happened?
Looking straight ahead, he realizes there is a mirror hanging from the wall. It looks just like the mirror at his house. Slowly he stands and approaches it. When he looks into it, there is no reflection. He tilts his head to the left. Nothing. To the right. Still nothing.
He touches it. It is cold under his fingertips. He looks behind him to examine the room, and back to the mirror to make sure it is indeed a mirror. The room is reflected perfectly in it.
What is this?
A small tune begins to play. It frightens him. His muscles twitch. He looks up, scanning the ceiling and searching for where the music is coming from. Then he sees it. A small, circular speaker in the ceiling. The tune is monotonous and annoying. He doesn’t like it.
“Hello,” he calls out. “Is anybody there?” There is no answer.
With a sigh, he turns away from the mirror and stares across the room. He notices a small metal box in the far left corner of the room. He goes to it. The box is slightly rusting. He opens it. There is a small note pad and a pen inside. He takes them out and flips through the notebook. All the pages are blank. He lets his body relax a little.
After a while of pacing the room and sitting in different places, he decides to try and go back to sleep, which he succeeds at quite easily.
Day 2
Pace. Pace. Pace.
Look through notebook again, realize there is still nothing.
Pace.
Sit. Sit.
Pace.
Stare in mirror, wishing to see reflection of self.
Sit.
Sleep.
Day 3
Repeat.
Day 4
Eyes open. Look around the room. Immediately notice a door that was not there before. Close eyes. Shake head. Rub eyes. Open. The door is still there.
He gets up and goes to the door. There is no handle on his side. There is a slot that opens toward him. He tries to open it to no avail. Wonders what is going on as the door was definitely not there the previous days. Believes he is going crazy.
Later that day, the slot opens and a plate of food appears through it. When he sees the food, it as if his eyes send a message to his brain, which in turn sends it to his stomach. The stomach replies with a growl. It is not until then when he realizes how hungry he is. Picking up the plate of food, not daring to smell it, he shoves the food in with his hand and swallows, not bothering to chew.
Once the food is gone, he goes to lie back down on the cold concrete floor, staring at the ceiling.
Fade to sleep.
Day 5
Wake up. Realize the door is gone. Run to the place where it was. Feel wall for proof it was there, realize there is none. Feel hopeless.
Pace.
Sit.
Stare in mirror, wishing to see reflection of self.
Bang head against wall.
Sleep.
Day 6
Wake up. See that mirror has tripled in size. Notice that reflection is still not there. Know you are going crazy.
Sit and stare at mirror.
Let mind go blank.
Have epiphany.
He goes to the box and pulls out the pen and notebook. He opens the notebook to the first page, uncaps the pen and writes something on it. Caps the pen. Closes notebook. Places back in the box.
Stands up. Turns to stare at mirror.
“Goodbye,” he whispers, and with a slight twitch of his muscles, he breaks into a dead run at the mirror. Just when he meets the mirror, he feels something wet against his cheek and sits up in his bed, the cup of Jack spilling on his lap. A scent reaches his nose and he realizes that he was laying in his own vomit. When he looks at it, he sees four tiny pills, only slightly dissolved.
Getting up, he goes into his bathroom. There is glass all over the floor. When looking closer, he realizes it is tiny pieces of mirror. He looks up and the mirror that was once on the front of his medicine cabinet is broken into a million pieces.
---
8:15 AM
A woman in London goes to her mailbox. There is a small piece of paper in it. On the piece of paper is a scribble which reads: The secret is out. She turns her head to the left. No one.
8:23 AM
She turns her head to the right, and there she sees a bus rapidly speeding toward her.
---
8:24 AM
A small smirk rises on the right side of his face.