Last year, I moved into a middle class house right around summer time. The move went smooth, and it seemed like everything was just…working. Nothing broke during the cycle, I had plenty of friends to help me out, hell I even found twenty bucks in my couch! Beer money? Hell yeah!
Anyway, back to the house. For the first day or two, I thought life couldn’t get any better; my girl was beautiful, my friends were happy, and my parents were fixing their relationship. However, I hadn’t realized - until it was too late - that I was doomed to remain in this prison, which I sit in now as I tell you this story.
Monday, January 10, 2011
West
September 2nd 1868
Arrived in Cheyenne in the new Wyoming Territory early this morning on the new Union Pacific line. Has been three years since I rode the locomotive. Did not realize it would remind me so strongly of Atlanta. Spent the last day of the journey with the phantom smell of blood and iron in my nostrils, and the bile rising at the back of my throat, but it is over. God willing, I will never have to ride the train again. Cheyenne is new born and mewling like a babe. Immigrants from the east and across the seas teem here, filling the streets with a babel of tongues and the raucous laughter of drunken listless youths. The hound I purchased before leaving tugs at his leash with delight at the sights and sound.
Arrived in Cheyenne in the new Wyoming Territory early this morning on the new Union Pacific line. Has been three years since I rode the locomotive. Did not realize it would remind me so strongly of Atlanta. Spent the last day of the journey with the phantom smell of blood and iron in my nostrils, and the bile rising at the back of my throat, but it is over. God willing, I will never have to ride the train again. Cheyenne is new born and mewling like a babe. Immigrants from the east and across the seas teem here, filling the streets with a babel of tongues and the raucous laughter of drunken listless youths. The hound I purchased before leaving tugs at his leash with delight at the sights and sound.
The Theatre
Have you ever heard of an old PC game called “The Theater”? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Probably because many people say it doesn’t even exist. You see, The Theater is an old computer game released around the same time as Doom. Today, if you ever find it, it’s only available on crappy bootleg CD-ROMs, which, more often than naught don’t even actually contain the game. The actual legitimate copies that they say were released back in the day feature a blank cover with nothing but the sprite of what has since been named the ‘the Ticket-Taker’. He is simply a poorly drawn, pixelated Caucasian, bald man with large red lips wearing a red vest over a white shirt and black pants. He is completely emotionless, though some say that if you smash the disc his face is shown as angry the next time you look at the cover. But this is just dismissed as an urban myth. What is peculiar about The Theater, though, is that there is no developer named on the jewel case, nor a game description on the back. It is simply the Ticket-Taker on a white backdrop on both sides.
A Warning
I’m doing this for you. And for Mike, too, I guess, though I don’t think there’s much I can do to help him at this point.
I suppose I should provide some background information first. I’m a sophomore in a fairly good university in Boston - no, not MIT or Harvard, but still one that’s a bit of a chore to get into. My freshman year, I had the option to live in honors housing and decided to roll with it; after all, at least the people would be interesting. Whatever arcane algorithm they use to process roommate requests took in my preferences and spat out the name of my future roommate: Mike, just another random honors kid from St. Louis. The two of us got along fine for most of freshman year - my enjoyment of Miley Cyrus notwithstanding-and so we decided to room together sophomore year as well.
I suppose I should provide some background information first. I’m a sophomore in a fairly good university in Boston - no, not MIT or Harvard, but still one that’s a bit of a chore to get into. My freshman year, I had the option to live in honors housing and decided to roll with it; after all, at least the people would be interesting. Whatever arcane algorithm they use to process roommate requests took in my preferences and spat out the name of my future roommate: Mike, just another random honors kid from St. Louis. The two of us got along fine for most of freshman year - my enjoyment of Miley Cyrus notwithstanding-and so we decided to room together sophomore year as well.
Mr. Wide Mouth
During my childhood my family was like a drop of water in a vast river, never remaining in one location for long. We settled in Rhode Island when I was eight, and there we remained until I went to college in Colorado Springs. Most of my memories are rooted in Rhode Island, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we had lived in when I was much younger.
Most of these memories are unclear and pointless– chasing after another boy in the back yard of a house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on the creek behind the apartment we rented in Pennsylvania, and so on. But there is one set of memories which remains as clear as glass, as though they were just made yesterday. I often wonder whether these memories are simply lucid dreams produced by the long sickness I experienced that Spring, but in my heart, I know they are real.
Most of these memories are unclear and pointless– chasing after another boy in the back yard of a house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on the creek behind the apartment we rented in Pennsylvania, and so on. But there is one set of memories which remains as clear as glass, as though they were just made yesterday. I often wonder whether these memories are simply lucid dreams produced by the long sickness I experienced that Spring, but in my heart, I know they are real.
Psychosis
Sunday
I’m not sure why I’m writing this down on paper and not on my computer. I guess I’ve just noticed some odd things. It’s not that I don’t trust the computer… I just… need to organize my thoughts. I need to get down all the details somewhere objective, somewhere I know that what I write can’t be deleted or… changed… not that that’s happened. It’s just… everything blurs together here, and the fog of memory lends a strange cast to things…
I’m starting to feel cramped in this small apartment. Maybe that’s the problem. I just had to go and choose the cheapest apartment, the only one in the basement. The lack of windows down here makes day and night seem to slip by seamlessly. I haven’t been out in a few days because I’ve been working on this programming project so intensively. I suppose I just wanted to get it done. Hours of sitting and staring at a monitor can make anyone feel strange, I know, but I don’t think that’s it.
I’m not sure why I’m writing this down on paper and not on my computer. I guess I’ve just noticed some odd things. It’s not that I don’t trust the computer… I just… need to organize my thoughts. I need to get down all the details somewhere objective, somewhere I know that what I write can’t be deleted or… changed… not that that’s happened. It’s just… everything blurs together here, and the fog of memory lends a strange cast to things…
I’m starting to feel cramped in this small apartment. Maybe that’s the problem. I just had to go and choose the cheapest apartment, the only one in the basement. The lack of windows down here makes day and night seem to slip by seamlessly. I haven’t been out in a few days because I’ve been working on this programming project so intensively. I suppose I just wanted to get it done. Hours of sitting and staring at a monitor can make anyone feel strange, I know, but I don’t think that’s it.
Haunted
It’s your first night in your new apartment. Your stuff is still in boxes. Your furniture (with the exception of the mattress on the floor) hasn’t arrived yet. The utilities won’t be turned on until the next day, so you’re making due without. A flashlight and some candles will do for light until you go to sleep. Despite the creepy feeling of being in a dark, empty apartment all alone; you chalk it up to nervousness and try to get some sleep.
A sound wakes you up. You lay there for a moment, waiting to decide if it was real or just your imagination being too loud. When the sound happens again, you check your cell for the time. Two in the morning. You get up, using your cellphone for light, and make your way towards the kitchen; the apparent source of the noises. At first, you think somebody has broken into your apartment, but you choke down your reaction as you stare at the figure. It is a middle-aged man, wearing what amounted to striped pajamas and standing in front of the microwave with his back to you. Although seemingly solid, you can also see through his body. You’re paralyzed; mostly out of fear, but partly out of curiosity.
A sound wakes you up. You lay there for a moment, waiting to decide if it was real or just your imagination being too loud. When the sound happens again, you check your cell for the time. Two in the morning. You get up, using your cellphone for light, and make your way towards the kitchen; the apparent source of the noises. At first, you think somebody has broken into your apartment, but you choke down your reaction as you stare at the figure. It is a middle-aged man, wearing what amounted to striped pajamas and standing in front of the microwave with his back to you. Although seemingly solid, you can also see through his body. You’re paralyzed; mostly out of fear, but partly out of curiosity.
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