November 2008

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DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us

A Terrible Thing to Waste
by Elijah J. Brown

"I’ve been having trouble remembering some things recently." A man lies on a couch, his hands folded upon his chest. Another man sits in a chair adjacent to him, holding a notepad and a yellow number two pencil.

"What do you have trouble remembering Jason?" Asks the pencil holder.

"Well, I never remember coming to this place... this office, or leaving here for that matter." Jason unfolds his hands; points to the floor as he says this, replacing them as he finishes.

"You may not be ready for some things Jason." The man holding the pencil and pad is a psychiatrist by he name of Fensal who Jason has been seeing for over a year now. The doctor speaks dryly, almost robotic, but Jason figures that most psychologists speak thusly. He assumes that "they" are unable to feel intense emotion, most likely from years of seeing the harm such extremes can cause.

"Ready?” Jason cocks his head slightly toward the doctor as he asks this and then turns back frontward wearing a confused grimace.

He sits in silence thinking, thinking. He sits comfortably on the fancy couch studying the intricate floral pattern carved into the ceiling tiles. Following the crevices and the highways of the topography.

“I’m going to put you to sleep now Jason”

“Ok” He says, docile and relaxed. Jason doesn’t mind the hypnosis itself, its just that he never remembers leaving the office when it's over.

“Close your eyes.”

***

Jason awakes as he usually does after his sessions with the doctor. He awakes in his room most of the time. Sometimes he wakes in other parts of the hospital, but usually in his room and always confused.

Jason has been confused for nearly two years now. If he were to really think about it or, to at least ask himself the right questions he would admit to being confused for most of his life; if not the whole damn thing.

He looks at his watch; it is nearly time for group. He likes his watch; it’s one of the few things they allow him to have in the hospital; it's metal and heavy. It looks expensive, he doesn’t remember if it is. He continues to stare at his watch thinking about time, thinking, thinking.

Why isn’t time working like it should? How should time work? What is time? He sits, staring at the watch following the hands for some time... time, thinking... thinking. He imagines how time might work if it were created of tiny “time” molecules. “Nucleus… rotation… positive… negative…”

Eventually one of the nurses opens his door to take him to group.

Jason rarely has anything to contribute in group; he tries not to reinforce the belief in his apparent insanity. He usually bullshits it like most of the others. But today is different- he experienced something the other day that disturbed him... disturbed.

The group session flows as usual, Dr. Meg makes her way around the group asking all of them one at a time to contribute on a subject or to speak about their feelings, you know let the healing begin and all that rot. And now it is Jason’s turn

"Do you have anything to share today Jason?" Dr. Meg asks Jason. Meg has black hair, light skin and blue eyes. Meg is the nurse that always runs group, there are others there but mostly for 'crowd control.' Jason has always liked Meg; she seems sincere and has trusting, kind eyes. He likes her, so he hesitates in sharing his experience. He doesn’t want to scare her.

"Yes I do"

"Good, go ahead."

"I don’t use the bathroom downstairs anymore." Jason blurts, and then pauses.

"Why is that Jason?" Meg’s eyes remain sincere, honest.

"Well... I was… using it the other day, when I finished with the toilet I stood and moved to go wash my hands and leave. As I was leaving the stall I realized that I had forgotten to flush." Jason pauses.

"Go on."

"I turned to go back in the stall and flush the toilet when I saw... you... doctor, crouched on the floor in front of the toilet. You then turned to me, you had a handful of my...eh...feces." A ripple of giggles runs through the other crazies, some just grimace- some don’t react at all, chasing butterflies.

"Let him finish." Miraculously Dr. Meg doesn’t seem phased at all. Jason figures that the only reason Dr. Meg allows him to talk like this is because he hasn’t “shared” anything in months- and if he was denied this, he might not ever open up again. Which might have been the truth.

She nods to Jason, as to tell him that it's ok to continue.

"Well, you had that...stuff in your hand and it was smeared on you mouth as if you were... eating it... and then you said to me..."Oh, were you gonna eat that?" Jason gazes at the floor as he speaks, not wanting to say what he was saying but having to get rid of it all at the same time. He has been randomly seeing odd things for a while now, indescribable maddening things- most he doesn’t speak of. But it has come to needing to let some of it out, just a squirt. He's a damn at the brink of explosion and he's letting out a squirt, it’s a start.

"I could see... the... shit in your teeth, you were smiling and then you just started laughing...like a...well...like a crazy person. So I left the bathroom and never went back."

Jason speaks a bit hysterically at this last juncture but maintains self-control. Upon completion he simply sits with his head down, saying nothing more. Meg barely manages to get anything out herself, understandably in a temporary fog of shock and confusion. Her professional self soon takes over and continues on as a doctor. Some of the other patients are giggling and shifting erratically- nothing unusual. But Meg asks them not to laugh.

"Jason is sharing and sharing is good,” she said.

"You do realize that, that wasn’t real right Jason?" Meg asks as she leans toward him.

"Yes" He utters quietly, abashedly.

"That’s good."

2

Jason doesn’t mind the hospital so much; it is a safe place for him. A safe place for him to be crazy at the very least and maybe he'll eventually get better... better. He realizes that the things going on in his head aren’t things that are regularly considered "normal." Jason knows what he did to get in the hospital, or at least what they tell him he did, he doesn’t remember doing it though. He doesn’t even remember what she looks like. Apparently she had good taste in watches though.

"Heavy" Jason said, feeling the weight of his watch on his wrist. His eyes affixed upon the rotating hands.

"What’s that Jason?"

"My watch." Jason looks up to find himself in that office again. 'How the fuck do I always end up here?' He inquires himself.

"I think my wife gave it to me." He says, lowering his hand to meet its brother resting on his chest wrapping them into each other. His usual pose when talking with the Doc.

"Do you want to talk about your wife Jason, do you think you are ready for that?"

"It's hard for me to remember her." Jason frowns, thoughtful, digging through the sedimentary layers of his messy, messy mind.

Jason imagines himself standing in a sort of landfill of stuff... memories, with a shovel- digging. He invites the good doctor in and says to him "welcome to my mind Doc, sorry about the mess."

Jason smiles.

"Do you remember what you did to your wife Jason?"

Jason’s smile fades.

"I can’t even remember what she looks like anymore." Jason wears a blank expression- his big brown eyes are empty.

"I know what I’m in here for, what they said that I did anyway. I just... can’t remember doing it, you know... that time." Jason’s hands fidget a little and then lay still again.

"How many times would you say that you killed you wife?" Asks the dry, unfeeling robot.

"Dozens...and I know that that isn't possible, but I saw it...I saw myself doing it, just… not that time." Jason still sits blank- digging.

"I need a bigger shovel" He says to himself... and smiles.

3

A computer monitor in a small room sits flickering static in silence. The screen alone lights the room, wires run from the monitor into a wall directly behind it. The room is a sterile white wash, and houses the monitor, a desk, a keyboard, a mouse (computer type) and a chair propped in front of this desk. The room is a quant 8 by 8 square. An image presents itself on the screen; the image is of a fair skinned woman with black hair and blue eyes. She wears a summer dress and seems happy. After a few moments the image flickers away and the screen goes black.

A tree falls in the woods; no one hears it.

***

Jason lies in his room struggling to sleep; thinking about all those times he killed his wife. He remembers the first time he killed her, it happened that time like it always happened. It always happened when they were happy and quiet, never when they were arguing.

Even though they had been arguing allot then, he suspects that it was the stress that eventually got to him. He remembers them lying with each other, her in his arms. Her face is a blur in his mind, but he remembers what he did, or thinks he did...the first time.

He remembers them being happy there then out of nowhere he remembers seeing himself with a knife to her eye, cutting it out. He remembers that her eyes were beautiful, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Maybe his subconscious wanted to keep them- but he cant remember what color they were. He had always liked blue eyes; so he assumed they were blue, maybe green.

He remembers cutting her eye out and then snapping out of that delusion and back to them being peaceful. He remembers lifting his hands and staring at them in disbelief and horror. She asks him what is wrong and he simply replies "Nothing" and holds her again. He remembers that from that moment on he didn’t like having his hands anywhere that he couldn’t see. He never trusted them again.

***

It’s now noon of the following day; Jason sits in the common area' or 'lounge' where they allow patients to interact with one another under heavy supervision anyway. Most of the 'supervision' consists of what appear to be linebackers. The supervisors make sure that the patients are well doped up as to have an even less likely chance of an "incident."

Jason talks with one of his fellow patients about the quality of food in the hospital and how he would give his right nut for a cup of decent coffee.

He was just finishing remarking about trading his testicles when he realized that his feet feel wet. He looks down to see that they are sitting in a shallow pool of blood. “Wha…” He mumbles. As he speaks he hears the sound of gagging.

He looks up to see that the pool of blood led to a man. A nude man; on the floor, on all fours- vomiting blood in great swells. He watches for a brief moment before he realizing that the man was he. He was watching his own nude body vacate itself of gallons of thick red waste, perpetually. His eyes are in pain- streaming with tears.

Jason looks around; no one else seems to notice this madness. He notices that the patient he was talking to is saying something to him but all that he can hear is his ghost body vomiting that red goo. Jason pulls his feet up to his chair and clutches his knees, looking much like a frightened child. He closes his eyes and rocks himself gently trying to ease away the apparent delusion. He then feels a hand touch the top of his head.

"What’s wrong Jason?" He looks up and deeply into Dr. Meg's eyes, beautiful blue eyes. They too frighten him now; afraid he might try to cut them out too. So he ducks his head back down into his knees.

"Why can’t I just stop seeing this FUCKED SHIT!?" Jason exclaims this more as a statement than any real question. Meg kneels down in front of him and places her hand on his.

"We're trying to help Jason." Meg, sincere Meg with her eyes true blue.

"I know... I know... its just so damn hard being like this." Jason chuckles a little, fascinated and horrified.

"Did you take your medication Jason?"

"Yes" Jason’s words sound muffled passing through his legs.

"Good... we're trying to help Jason."

"I know" Nurse Meg Got up and went about her business. What else can you do, change the channel and see what's on lifetime? It’s not quite all that easy is it?

Jason lifts his head to see that his ghost body is no longer there.

4

"Ok, we should have audio back now" A man in a lab coat says to another, both of which are wrist deep in wires.

"Do a test run, play any of the audio files. Ill be in here if there are any problems."

"Got it" The man got up and left the room full of wires and servers. He walks into a room parallel that one. The room is dark and empty save for a table with a computer monitor. The man switch’s on the lights and the room flickers to life.

As he walks in he hears from the monitor’s speakers a static laden voice. It sounds like it said "medication" there is something before and after that but he can’t make it out. He pauses as he hears this and then walks into the room and sits down at the desk. He accesses one of the audio files and plays it, it works fine.

***

Jason is asleep in his room; you could call it a cell. Jason sleeps on his floor, one night he felt hands grasping at him through his mattress. He didn’t like that.

Jason lies dreaming of driving a car through a beautiful countryside. A pretty woman sits in the passenger seat; the woman has straight black hair and scarily blue eyes. They just drove and laughed, talking of little nothings. Then from nowhere came the sound of twisting steel and screams. He opens his eyes.

"I don't know if you are ready, but you can look at it if you wish."

"Doc? ...oh" Jason finds himself in the psych's office once more, noticing the familiar floral pattern printed on the ceiling tiles. A manila folder with his name atop it is in his hands.

"Is this my...record?" Jason inquires.

"Yes it is, it contains some of the answers you seek about your past Jason." The robot manages a small amount of what would appear to be sincerity.

Jason opens the folder, looks upon it with horror, shuts it and puts it down. "I can’t read this." Jason said flatly, masking fear.

"I was afraid not."

Jason, trying to forget what he just saw, lays his head back. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, darkness. He opens his eyes to see a door... a stall door... a bathroom stall.

"Oh, shit" He whispers, he is in the bathroom downstairs.

"Damn it" Just hitch up your pants and walk out, he thinks. "There are no crazy doctors... any trying to eat your crap anyway."

He walks out of the bathroom, shutting the door and beginning to walk down the hall.

Muffled laughter leaks from the bathroom, Jason walks faster, needing to put much more space between him and that room.

"Were YOU gonna eat that...hahahaha." The voice cackles.

5

Jason sits in the lounge area watching TV. He watches some sit-com, remembering why he hates sit-coms. He remembers how his wife hated sit-coms with him. The false portrayal of the American lifestyle- glorified madness and idiocy. The Mass-produced and force-fed slop is almost as bad as reality TV. Jason grimaces at the screen then he starts digging again. Shovel in hand he mines his mind. He knows his past is buried in there, somewhere. Maybe it's fossilized.

"How did she die? Did I really do it? I never wanted to kill her, I just... saw... it happening. I never liked seeing it, it scared the hell outta me. We had our troubles as couples do, but nothing that bad." Thoughts running amuck, Jason trying to heard them like a failure bo-peep. He decides to wait and ask the Doc. Moreover demand it from him. He needs some answers, needs closure. He needs the truth- he can handle the truth. Even if the truth is horrible at least... it is the truth.

Jason reverts back to the magic box, watching it spill its gruel into the mouths of the hungry and waiting public. Little baby bird people- drooling over the anticipation of regurgitation.

***

"Storage has been stable for weeks now, no major hiccups." A white-coated scientist type speaks to another. Both stand in the small room with the monitor and desk. They look at the monitor; it displays numbers, percentages.

"The testing is nearly complete? Would you call it a success?" The other white-coat inquires.

"Seeing that this is merely a prototype, no. We don’t know if these results can be mass-produced as of yet. But that is the next logical step; we will continue to monitor this storage unit and start tracking down the next candidate for testing. Now that we know how to get to this point it's only a matter of time before we've got this down pat."

"Excellent, keep up the good work."

The coats exit the room.

***

"I think it's time for you to read this Jason."

Jason's eyes open to see the manila folder in his hands again. Fearful of its interior he hesitates opening it.

"You think so, Doc?"

"Perhaps." Says the robot.

Cautiously Jason opens the folder, relieved to find that it isn’t smeared with blood and shit this time. "Good" Jason mumbles gratefully.

He sees a report of an automobile accident, it happened on his birthday. It says that his wife died instantly, neck trauma. He finds more papers that say he was in a coma for 6 months and the decision had been made to terminate as per his will.

"What's... goin on here Doc?"

No answer.

"Doc?"

Jason sits up, looks about the small office to find that he is alone. He notices that the door across the room from him is slightly open.

He sets down his folder and gets up, walks toward the door. He opens the door to see nothing, unlimited vast nothing. There is no smell, no breeze, no sound, no anything. He steps into the abyss and closes the door.

***

"We just lost all function on the storage unit, everything is gone." One scientist says to another over a phone.

"No rush, its gone... yeah too bad. We'll have better luck with the next one, just thought I should let you know... yeah, may be due to some trauma in the earlier stages of development... yeah, yeah... well you did drop it that one time... ha-ha... ya... well I’ll see you tomorrow, bye."

The scientist gets off the phone and opens a case the size of a small refrigerator. It hisses open releasing stored pressure. He looks inside to see a human brain sitting in a large jar with wires and machinery running in and out of it.

"Too bad buddy, we almost made it all the way."

He picks up file labeled Jason Vestal, and puts it in a filing cabinet.

"Thank God for organ donors."