Stockholm: Agent of Chaos
Day 4
I awoke with sore muscles and an aching back. A small laugh ricocheted in my ears and through my blurred vision I saw a small animal, most likely a rat, scurry quickly past my feet. “Good morning, sunshine!” a familiar voice sang. I mumbled something, I don’t recall. “I brought you breakfast!”
There was a quick slit and my hands were free from the rope yet my feet remained tied to the legs of the chair. “Thank you,” I whispered through my dry throat.
He handed me a paper, fast food bag and a bottle of water. There was more food in it this time. “Eat,” he commanded.
I did as I was told, not that he had to tell me to begin with. It was as if my animal instincts came out as I began to eat. My stomach felt like it nearly jumped out of my throat in an effort to get the food quicker. Again, he sat across from me on that vomit-green, ragged couch and just watched as I scarfed down the grease-dripping food. I finished with the bottle of water and drank every drop that could’ve possibly been in it. “You good?” he asked.
“Yes.” I wiped my mouth clean with the back of my hand. He put his face in his hands and sat in silence for what seemed like forever. Eventually, I mustered up the courage to speak. “Are… Are you alright?” I asked with honest sincerity in my voice.
He chuckled and brought his face up. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” and he laughed again.
I put my head down, humiliated for some reason.
“I consider myself a Freudian, you know?” he began. “Except, I’m a little more pessimistic. I believe that all people are bad. We’re born that way. It’s natural. And some people go about their lives trying to be ‘good’ which is completely against our nature. Which is the underlying reason why everything just…” He threw his hands into the air and exclaimed, “sucks!” He sighed deeply. “We are bad. You and I and everyone else in the world. People are born killers and rapists and thieves. There’s the id, the ego, and the super-ego. Like I said, I’m a little more pessimistic so I don’t believe in the ego and super-ego.” His voice suddenly went from an almost humorous quality to a deep and dark tone when he spoke again. “There’s only an id inside all of us.” He voice resumed its happier sound. “As Freud once said,
‘It is the dark, inaccessible part of our personality, what little we know of it we have learnt from our study of the dream-work and of the construction of neurotic symptoms, and most of this is of a negative character and can be described only as a contrast to the ego. We all approach the id with analogies: we call it a chaos, a cauldron full of seething excitations... It is filled with energy reaching it from the instincts, but it has no organization, produces no collective will, but only a striving to bring about the satisfaction of the instinctual needs subject to the observance of the pleasure principle.’
Id drives us to be selfish and do things the give us immediate gratification. Our basic, most primitive, drives are caused by this. The need for breath… food and water… sex.” He paced around for a moment. “You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this. Well, when I was just a little tot in elementary I had a beautiful teacher. I had the biggest crush a child could have on his instructor. I remember her vividly. She had long and flowing red hair. Green, round eyes. She always spoke of the good in people, which at the time I foolishly believed. I also had a friend. His name was James. James would catch a ride home with me and my pathetic excuse for a father. One day, my father was running late and James said he’d be in the bathroom. I waited for him to come back and eventually Daddy showed up. He yells at me and tells me to go get my ‘shithead’ friend because we’re making him late. To some casino he was off to, I’m sure. So I run to the bathroom and James is nowhere to be found. I run up and down the halls calling his name. I figure I’ll stop by Mrs. Perkins class to see if she’d seen him and maybe he was in our classroom bathroom. As not to be rude, I opened the door quietly but suddenly my ears are filled with this noise I’d never heard before.”
He scoffed to himself before he continued. “I heard her saying profanities and I walked inside. I followed the noise to the classroom bathroom and with a sudden burst of energy and curiosity, I quickly swing open the bathroom door to reveal a half naked James doing unmentionables to our equally undressed teacher. A thirty-some-odd woman forcing a nine year old to do these things to her. I was shocked. Appalled. For lack of a better word. She got punishment, which could’ve been a bit more severe, and James put a pistol in his mouth at age sixteen because of the constant memories and the pricks at our school who found it amusing to pick on a kid that’d be molested. That only should’ve killed my faith in humanity but it didn’t. Not until everyone I knew and loved died. By the way, there is no God. Never has been. Never will be. And I pity the imbeciles who believe in such nonsense. ‘Daddy! Daddy! Don’t hurt Mommy! She didn’t mean to! No! Please! Stop!’ So you see, I’m not a monster. I’m just ahead of the curve.”
I spoke quietly for fear that he was tittering on the brink of pure insanity. “Everything that’s happened to you is terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, no,” he laughed. “You’re not sorry because you don’t know anything.”
“But I am.” Our eyes connected and for a brief moment, I saw a true feeling in them. Not covered by the maniacal laughing and sudden, dark anger. He rushed me abruptly and began grabbing at my arms which I flailed because I didn’t know what he was trying to do.
“Listen,” he said sternly, then yelled, “Listen!” I froze and he roughly yanked both of my arms and used one hand to hold them by the wrist, firmly in my lap. He breathed heavily, only inches from my face. His breath reeked as mine did too and his yellow teeth shown brightly in the otherwise dim room. He used his other hand to rub the side of my face. “How surprising soft you still are after being in here for a few days without a good washing.”
I closed my eyes and felt his grip loosen until his touch was completely gone. Then, I felt my arms being pulled backwards and the familiar feeling of rope on scabbed wrists was felt again. With my eyes still shut I felt the smallest, lightest kiss pressed to the top of the bridge of my nose. A strange sensation shot through my body. A sense of feeling toward another, a sense of fear of the unexpected, a sense of sadness? A sense unknown.
The footsteps faded away as did my feeling and I drifted off again.
There was a quick slit and my hands were free from the rope yet my feet remained tied to the legs of the chair. “Thank you,” I whispered through my dry throat.
He handed me a paper, fast food bag and a bottle of water. There was more food in it this time. “Eat,” he commanded.
I did as I was told, not that he had to tell me to begin with. It was as if my animal instincts came out as I began to eat. My stomach felt like it nearly jumped out of my throat in an effort to get the food quicker. Again, he sat across from me on that vomit-green, ragged couch and just watched as I scarfed down the grease-dripping food. I finished with the bottle of water and drank every drop that could’ve possibly been in it. “You good?” he asked.
“Yes.” I wiped my mouth clean with the back of my hand. He put his face in his hands and sat in silence for what seemed like forever. Eventually, I mustered up the courage to speak. “Are… Are you alright?” I asked with honest sincerity in my voice.
He chuckled and brought his face up. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” and he laughed again.
I put my head down, humiliated for some reason.
“I consider myself a Freudian, you know?” he began. “Except, I’m a little more pessimistic. I believe that all people are bad. We’re born that way. It’s natural. And some people go about their lives trying to be ‘good’ which is completely against our nature. Which is the underlying reason why everything just…” He threw his hands into the air and exclaimed, “sucks!” He sighed deeply. “We are bad. You and I and everyone else in the world. People are born killers and rapists and thieves. There’s the id, the ego, and the super-ego. Like I said, I’m a little more pessimistic so I don’t believe in the ego and super-ego.” His voice suddenly went from an almost humorous quality to a deep and dark tone when he spoke again. “There’s only an id inside all of us.” He voice resumed its happier sound. “As Freud once said,
‘It is the dark, inaccessible part of our personality, what little we know of it we have learnt from our study of the dream-work and of the construction of neurotic symptoms, and most of this is of a negative character and can be described only as a contrast to the ego. We all approach the id with analogies: we call it a chaos, a cauldron full of seething excitations... It is filled with energy reaching it from the instincts, but it has no organization, produces no collective will, but only a striving to bring about the satisfaction of the instinctual needs subject to the observance of the pleasure principle.’
Id drives us to be selfish and do things the give us immediate gratification. Our basic, most primitive, drives are caused by this. The need for breath… food and water… sex.” He paced around for a moment. “You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this. Well, when I was just a little tot in elementary I had a beautiful teacher. I had the biggest crush a child could have on his instructor. I remember her vividly. She had long and flowing red hair. Green, round eyes. She always spoke of the good in people, which at the time I foolishly believed. I also had a friend. His name was James. James would catch a ride home with me and my pathetic excuse for a father. One day, my father was running late and James said he’d be in the bathroom. I waited for him to come back and eventually Daddy showed up. He yells at me and tells me to go get my ‘shithead’ friend because we’re making him late. To some casino he was off to, I’m sure. So I run to the bathroom and James is nowhere to be found. I run up and down the halls calling his name. I figure I’ll stop by Mrs. Perkins class to see if she’d seen him and maybe he was in our classroom bathroom. As not to be rude, I opened the door quietly but suddenly my ears are filled with this noise I’d never heard before.”
He scoffed to himself before he continued. “I heard her saying profanities and I walked inside. I followed the noise to the classroom bathroom and with a sudden burst of energy and curiosity, I quickly swing open the bathroom door to reveal a half naked James doing unmentionables to our equally undressed teacher. A thirty-some-odd woman forcing a nine year old to do these things to her. I was shocked. Appalled. For lack of a better word. She got punishment, which could’ve been a bit more severe, and James put a pistol in his mouth at age sixteen because of the constant memories and the pricks at our school who found it amusing to pick on a kid that’d be molested. That only should’ve killed my faith in humanity but it didn’t. Not until everyone I knew and loved died. By the way, there is no God. Never has been. Never will be. And I pity the imbeciles who believe in such nonsense. ‘Daddy! Daddy! Don’t hurt Mommy! She didn’t mean to! No! Please! Stop!’ So you see, I’m not a monster. I’m just ahead of the curve.”
I spoke quietly for fear that he was tittering on the brink of pure insanity. “Everything that’s happened to you is terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“No, no, no,” he laughed. “You’re not sorry because you don’t know anything.”
“But I am.” Our eyes connected and for a brief moment, I saw a true feeling in them. Not covered by the maniacal laughing and sudden, dark anger. He rushed me abruptly and began grabbing at my arms which I flailed because I didn’t know what he was trying to do.
“Listen,” he said sternly, then yelled, “Listen!” I froze and he roughly yanked both of my arms and used one hand to hold them by the wrist, firmly in my lap. He breathed heavily, only inches from my face. His breath reeked as mine did too and his yellow teeth shown brightly in the otherwise dim room. He used his other hand to rub the side of my face. “How surprising soft you still are after being in here for a few days without a good washing.”
I closed my eyes and felt his grip loosen until his touch was completely gone. Then, I felt my arms being pulled backwards and the familiar feeling of rope on scabbed wrists was felt again. With my eyes still shut I felt the smallest, lightest kiss pressed to the top of the bridge of my nose. A strange sensation shot through my body. A sense of feeling toward another, a sense of fear of the unexpected, a sense of sadness? A sense unknown.
The footsteps faded away as did my feeling and I drifted off again.