Brain Sad
Chapter Four
Harper sat alone within the cafe, her tall mug of black coffee her only companion. She gripped it tightly, the ceramic sides burning her hands, but she did not care. Nor did she notice the dull ache at the front of her skull.
Outside, no cars passed by. No pedestrians strolled up and down the footpath. No birds sang.
(dead)
She noticed the waitress had never come back to take her food order. Nobody sat in any of the booths
(all dead)
and she was beginning to become nervous. She raised the mug with shaky hands and sipped; the bitter liquid swirling past her tongue and cascading down her throat. As it did, the ache in her head became more intense, as if some angst ridden teenage boy was using the inside of her skull as a punching bag.
(insane in the membrane...)
The boy was hitting harder now, taking all of his anger out on the supple interior of her mind. It was relentless. The beating wouldn’t stop. The boy wasn’t satisfied. He wouldn’t be satisfied, not until he broke through, shattering her skull, sending splinters of bone and tissue splattering on the cafe table, blending with the coffee ring marks. Not until vital fluids flowed down her face in sickly streams, stinging her eyes and dripping from her chin.
(insane in the BRAIN...)
Not insane. No, she wasn’t that. She was inflamed. Her brain was inflamed. As if it had a rash.
(“Hey, mum! Can you rub some cream on my frontal lobe? It’s gotten quite inflamed.”)
Harper laughed; a morbid chortle which echoed throughout the abandoned cafe. Silence was her only reply. The pounding was worse.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
It drummed throughout her head, sending throbbing waves through her scalp.
“WHERE IS EVERYBODY?!” she screamed. “DOESN’T ANYBODY HEAR ME?!”
Nothing but silence.
“They’re dead...aren’t they?” she asked the empty room. She turned and caught her reflection in the glass window to her left. “Am I right?” she asked her warped image.
“No,” it replied.
“Then what?” asked Harper, not in the least surprised that her reflection had given her an answer.
“You’re the one who’s dead.”
“But-”
“Everyone else lives while you sit here, in this empty cafe, sipping black coffee that should’ve gone cold a long time ago.” Her reflection grinned at her, the white teeth filling the smile coming out distorted, like a manipulated mirror at Luna Park.
“Is this all there is for me? Nothing but an empty cafe and a pounding in my head that should’ve dispersed along with my heartbeat?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I do not know, for I am nothing more than a reflection of self. I am simply telling you the things you already know to be true.”
“Then is this real?”
“Is anything?” her reflection answered, fading away.
Harper reached out, grasping at nothing as the window disappeared, along with the rest of the cafe. Only white surrounded her. And she floated through the white landscape and the silence. Only it wasn’t silent. Something was calling her forward. She couldn’t distinguish the source or what they were saying
(step into the light...)
but she felt inclined to follow it. So she did.
And there was her mum, a bland hospital room her backdrop.
Outside, no cars passed by. No pedestrians strolled up and down the footpath. No birds sang.
(dead)
She noticed the waitress had never come back to take her food order. Nobody sat in any of the booths
(all dead)
and she was beginning to become nervous. She raised the mug with shaky hands and sipped; the bitter liquid swirling past her tongue and cascading down her throat. As it did, the ache in her head became more intense, as if some angst ridden teenage boy was using the inside of her skull as a punching bag.
(insane in the membrane...)
The boy was hitting harder now, taking all of his anger out on the supple interior of her mind. It was relentless. The beating wouldn’t stop. The boy wasn’t satisfied. He wouldn’t be satisfied, not until he broke through, shattering her skull, sending splinters of bone and tissue splattering on the cafe table, blending with the coffee ring marks. Not until vital fluids flowed down her face in sickly streams, stinging her eyes and dripping from her chin.
(insane in the BRAIN...)
Not insane. No, she wasn’t that. She was inflamed. Her brain was inflamed. As if it had a rash.
(“Hey, mum! Can you rub some cream on my frontal lobe? It’s gotten quite inflamed.”)
Harper laughed; a morbid chortle which echoed throughout the abandoned cafe. Silence was her only reply. The pounding was worse.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
It drummed throughout her head, sending throbbing waves through her scalp.
“WHERE IS EVERYBODY?!” she screamed. “DOESN’T ANYBODY HEAR ME?!”
Nothing but silence.
“They’re dead...aren’t they?” she asked the empty room. She turned and caught her reflection in the glass window to her left. “Am I right?” she asked her warped image.
“No,” it replied.
“Then what?” asked Harper, not in the least surprised that her reflection had given her an answer.
“You’re the one who’s dead.”
“But-”
“Everyone else lives while you sit here, in this empty cafe, sipping black coffee that should’ve gone cold a long time ago.” Her reflection grinned at her, the white teeth filling the smile coming out distorted, like a manipulated mirror at Luna Park.
“Is this all there is for me? Nothing but an empty cafe and a pounding in my head that should’ve dispersed along with my heartbeat?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I do not know, for I am nothing more than a reflection of self. I am simply telling you the things you already know to be true.”
“Then is this real?”
“Is anything?” her reflection answered, fading away.
Harper reached out, grasping at nothing as the window disappeared, along with the rest of the cafe. Only white surrounded her. And she floated through the white landscape and the silence. Only it wasn’t silent. Something was calling her forward. She couldn’t distinguish the source or what they were saying
(step into the light...)
but she felt inclined to follow it. So she did.
And there was her mum, a bland hospital room her backdrop.