The dim light of my computer illuminates my fingers; a half played game of Scrabulous is on screen, longing for my move. It will never happen: because as with most things, I'm doing poorly and have lost interest.
I take a slurp of the whiskey as a BANG sound comes from the couch. I lift up some pillows to find myself, aged 24, smiling at me.
"What are you doing here?", I ask.
The happy fucker responds glibly, "perhaps I should be asking you that question. Are you me?"
"I guess."
"What the fuck happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I'm noticing some love handles emerging. And why do you smell like whiskey and tears?
"Do tears have a smell?"
When I was 24, the world was my world-shaped oyster. Sure, I still suffered from a condition widely known as "neurotic Jew-itus"; but I had just finished my short film, it had played around the world, got universally good reviews, won a bunch of awards, and gotten me top notch representation.
"Well, I'm happy", my younger self says. "I mean, DiNero fucking shook my hand. That's like God taking you out on the town to pick up some hot ass; it just doesn't happen!"
"It's more like a brief candle being, uhh, blown out". My struggle for words mirrors my daily struggle to not kill myself.
He gives me a look like I'm a retarded monkey fucker. Which, actually, isn't too far from the truth.
"What the fuck happened to you, Manson? I mean, I'm banging broads and writing all day long". He looks over at my rabbits: "do you have RABBITS? What have you become?"
"The last three years? Well, first off, I've probably read like 6 books from cover to cover in that time. My vocabulary has become a grotesque mix of one syllable grunts and extremely misused larger words: Guess what I learned? A "social pariah" ISN'T someone who is the life of the party. I no longer walk, so my muscles are atrophying, which is why my flesh has become dough-like; and lastly, despite having all the time in the world, I seldomly write."
He grabs a gun and aims it at his temple.
"I will NOT end up like this. I won't be you! It's just...awful", his hands are shaking, but I know he's serious.
"Oh, by the way, I live in LA Now."
A single tear streams down his face.
*BLAM*
His brains splatter like a rainbow across my walls. Since I'm feeling lazy, I decide that I'll clean it up tomorrow (or whenever I get to it). Bored, I go over to my Scrabulous game and complain under my breath about the fact I have 4 I's, 2 U's and an A.
Three hours later, I drunkenly fall asleep and wake up at noon the next day.
24
VS
27
VS
27
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment