A Single Moment

I remember the blood, running thick and warm with an eye-numbing gush of red. It never seemed to end, as a sea that I would drown in. I remember the sweat, shining with intense distress. I remember the bending of each breaking bone and tearing of every muscle tendon. “We are just stories in the end, so make it a good one, eh?” I know great stories are filled with adrenaline filled action and steamy sex, but this one only has blood, addictions, and a ton of confusion. I don’t know if you’re another delusion or not, so I’ll try to tell you what I remember, whether it happened or not. That’s the issue with losing your mind. You lose your grip on everything else.

It’s January nineteenth, 2:18 PM in a quaint corner Uptown. That's when I lost everything. My wife. My mind. In a very stereotypical way, my wife died in a crossfire. Police vs. the mob. We were in an italian restaurant. Pablo’s Pasta. A tacky name with over the top decorations. The fettucini alfredo had such a soft white cream, which was exquisite in the way it subtly left an aftertaste. Everything was calm, or at least as calm as it could be in a New York restaurant. Suddenly, the cops decided to come in guns blazing. Ten swat burst in, body armor, two shot guns with grip handles to stop the recoil, three rifles with laser pointers and tear gas launchers attached to the underhand. The red and blue flashing lights of a dozen cop cars outside blinded us. Everyone running for their life, the simultaneous stampeding thumps of each foot hitting the mahogany floor. You would’ve thought there was a nearby Walmart with clearance sales better than Black Friday. You know how it gets on those days, everyone suddenly becomes Ares, the God of War, and will pick a fight with anyone they come into contact with. I’ve seen my fair share of broken noses or dislocated arms on those types of days. This, this is one of those days. Gunfire sprayed all throughout the restaurant. BodiesWhen I noticed my wife’s lifeless body, I drowned all the noise out. I held her in my arms pleading for her to wake up. Shouting out to the heavens All the shouting and gunshots, all the people pushing and running, it all faded out. I kneeled by her side. I was there for what felt like forever trying to give her CPR. “A pulse is all I need,” I thought. “I can save her.” I wouldn’t give up. I was forced to stop when I broke her second and third left ribs. I let go. People with near death experiences always speak of how their life flashes before their eyes. Not once have I heard of how the death of someone you love breaks a dam in your mind. Every memory you’ve ever had that includes even a hint of their voice comes banging at the walls like a song stuck in your head. Songs are catchy though. You have that tune that drives you crazy for weeks until you finally remember the lyrics instead of just a repeating string of sounds. This song broke a thousand hearts in one eternal second. One moment my heart stopped beating and the next, hers did. The noise came back. They were still shooting. She was dead and they were still shooting. I threw a table at the cops, knocked two down. Thankfully, those were the two with the shotguns. I wasn’t trying to have a hole blown through me. The mob used that to escape. I chased them. I was running on adrenaline and anger. That didn’t seem to be enough to fight three guys at once. What a blur it was. A kick to the face was the last thing I saw. Brown timbs, size eleven at least

The next thing I remember after that was waking up in a hospital bed. An IV needle stuck in my left arm, hooked up to a monitor. I was dressed in a gown that could unravel with the slightest breeze. The TV playing Three’s Company repeats. Two weeks. I was out for two weeks. I was stabbed in the stomach with a five inch serrated blade, slashed on my back. Thanks to me though, they were caught. The muscle and the brain. Him. The mere mention of his name makes me go blind with rage and clench my fist so hard that my nails pierce the palm of my hand and burst what blood vessels I had. Geffrey Torsten. Head of the mob. Certainly someone who’s bad side you didn’t want to be on, and I just became his number one target. Talk about luck. I’ve known a lot of bad people in my life. I’m not a saint myself, but Torsten is the worst. As an atheist, I don’t believe in all that religious crap, but if someone was to tell me Geffrey was the devil, I wouldn’t doubt it. He’s the embodiment of corruption and greed. The snake in the Garden of Eden, wrapping his slimy hands all over you and bending you to his will, no matter what it costs you. The worse the outcome, the more joy he gets in it.

My only friend, Nyssa, barged into my hospital room and jumped onto my bed. I felt my stitches reopening as my body bounced onto my mattress of ice. Hospitals aren’t what they used to be. Nobody seems to care anymore.

“Did you really think you could fight them? What the hell Blake? You’re not a kid anymore, so you should know better than to be getting in fights with the mob, or more than three guys at once for that matter!” she yelled with variations of anger and relief in her voice.

“I thought that I could handle myself. I helped catch them, didn’t I?” I had nothing to say. I flashed back to the reason I took on three armed thugs and held back the pain. My wife had died.

“That’s not the point. What if you died? Worse, what if you lived and they kept you as entertainment, torturing you whenever they were bored? You have to think about this stuff before you..”

“She’s dead.” I had to cut her off mid rant, but she didn’t hear. The more she talks about it, the more my blood boils. The monitor starts to beat faster and faster, almost erratic, but still she’s talking. I close my eyes. I can’t take it.

“Don’t ignore me. This is serious. Your life is important but you seem hell bent on wasting it. This must be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit. If the police..”

“SHE’S DEAD!” I erupted. I’ve never yelled at her before so she didn’t know what to do but she shut up. I opened my eyes and saw Her there. My wife. She stood at the end of my bed, staring at me. Then blood started coming out of her. Her eyes bled, her ears bled. There was red everywhere. She opened her mouth as if to talk but spit out teeth. I felt the warmth of her beating heart fade away as her chest burst, organs spilling out onto my hand. I jumped from my bed. She stopped bleeding, stopped speaking, and she started smiling. You can see her hands shaking and heart breaking her rib cages with each second it beats. My wife would rather endure pain than to admit it hurts her too much. I guess that’s one of the reasons I loved her. When we met, each scar on her arms showed me a story that I hadn’t read already. Each person she laughed seemed distant the way I do when I smile. Disconnected from the world, we saw it all. We experienced each emotion the same, but somehow each one felt empty. As teenagers, everyone expects us to be overdramatic, moody people. Are we over dramatic because every time we are hurt we turn to a blade rather than therapy? Is it being moody because we choose to keep to ourselves when we get tired of pretending? Acting is a profession that a person can make millions from and everyone loves actors for the ways they can portray false emotions and become different people, but is it not acting The worst part about it all was that no matter how much I knew it wasn’t real, it felt more realistic than the truth. Nothing hurts more than having your desires crushed by your truth.

A while ago, I read a line from some amateur poet, Jair something. He was my wife’s favorite. The kid could write but he never really piqued my interest. He said “What the mind won’t forget, the heart will forever regret, and the day you lie to your mind is the day you forever stay dead.” I never understood what it meant. Hell, I still don't. But I can feel where the kid was coming from. My anniversary passed by a few months ago. I didn't even remember until my wife told me. She made me breakfast, two pieces of bacon, scrambled eggs mixed with rice, and a nice little cinnamon roll on the side. It was perfect. Next to it, a note with a winking face saying meet me in the shower. Married seventeen years, straight out of high school after being high school sweethearts. For most people, the spark dies out or it becomes just sex to them. Not for us. There was a blazing fire at all times, packed in the heated lust of our love making. After each time, we would lay bare in each other's warmth and memorize the details of each other's every inch. We each had to go to work later on and would celebrate it later. I had nothing planned and went to work completely ignorant to what she did and why. I called her at 9:17 p.m to tell her I was gonna go out to eat with Nyssa and some other people. She was always trying to get me to do stuff. It was my anniversary and I went to some cheap restaurant with random people instead of a candlelit dinner or picnic under the full moon with my wife. And she forgave me. I'll never forget her message. “Have fun baby. You deserve it. If you need anything let me know. And stay safe :) XOXO” She never failed to put XOXO after every text.

Funerals are never really how they should be. Five people. Me, Nyssa, a priest, and two of her work friends Not her aunts or uncles. Not her cousins. Not her sister. Not even her dad. We’re not poor, but we’re not rich enough to have made a will to give stuff. That’s all people want. Money. I stood over my wife. I begged her to come back. I would've even prayed to God, but she rose. She turned to me. Her eyes met mine. I knew what she was gonna say. “Thank you” she would've said. “I came back. I couldn't leave you alone.” I picked her up. I announced it to everyone there. They looked at me horrified. If only I had known why. My wife was still dead. Stitches from the autopsy fresh. She felt warm as she got close. For me, it was the heat from the blood filling her body with life again. For everyone else, it was her stitches coming undone.

My days were a nightmare that I couldn’t wake from. Each day I would wake to the smell of a freshly brewed pot of coffee, the sound of the shower running with a look at some steam coming out the door, a plate of her leftover food on the counter, and my little husky, Axle, playing with his toy. Now I wake up to the sound of the couple in the apartment above me fighting, the smell of spoiled milk, and my dog laying by the shower door, alone. He was our baby, and now he misses his mom. I stay here for him. Otherwise I would’ve left this world and sent my atoms back out there to become a star again. Be one with the universe and all that crap. But I’m not leaving him... not yet.

After a while, I lost track of time. I eventually had to stop leaving my house. When I went out, I felt everyone reaching out at me. There were laser sights set between my eyes, a target on my back, a price on my head. I was dead in the eyes of everyone I passed because in their eyes, I was theirs to kill. Their eyes. Their eyes dying out, going pitch black as they became corrupt little minions. HIS corrupt little minions. Geffrey was out for blood and I knew he wouldn’t stop at mine. The anxiety of waiting for him to make his move was worse than anything I think he could’ve done to me. I would walk the streets, looking for a way out. Then, out of nowhere, cracks in the ground would send out hands to hold me in place, in the middle of the street. There was no point in trying to break loose because it wouldn’t have worked, but I don’t think I wanted to escape. I would see them, those hounds of hell. Those creatures of chaos, demons of the dungeon. Those poor souls before me. They were faceless, until a single moment that they sent out a ravaging shriek. I look up to see cars heading straight for me. It was a game and I had to play. It was a game, but not one you could win. Each car passed through me, filling me with fear. They wanted me to be afraid before they delivered the final blow. Once the last car came, it stopped in front of me. It was midnight-black 1936 Bugatti 57SC Atlantic. Geffrey stepped out of the driver’s seat with a crown on his head, worthless but a message to show me that he rules it all. That he was, is, and always would be King. In the passenger's seat stepped out his pet, who he called Havok which seemed appropriate. He walked up to me, no more than a foot away from my face. He opened his mouth, and I saw myself, in the back of his throat, smiling back at me. Then a yell. It was my wife. I was Havok, his little pet, his killer and I was holding my wife. She knew in those were her last seconds and she begged through laughing tears. It was a game to her too. Everyone seemed to want to play but me. Then she begged through tears of mercy, and that made me feel good. I felt as I overdosed on Endorphins as they released into my brain and spread through every single sensational nerve in my wretched body. I was beyond ecstatic to be holding her in my arms, to kill her. I looked away and turned back to see that world gone. A black ford explorer honking away at me, waiting for me to move. It was “normal” again. This isn’t my normal anymore though. I walked away in pain, as my feet burned and my ears bled. Hell is real.

If only everyone knew how it was to feel this way. Do you know what it’s like to feel yourself going insane and know it? What it’s like to hold someone who isn’t there but won’t go away. Love is pain in every aspect of the sense. There’s a theory amongst more of the conspiracy theorists that there is no heaven or hell. There is an afterlife, but what others call hell, is simply us being doomed to repeat our mistakes. No matter what, when you die, you repeat your life until you do what is right. How many times have I taken her to that restaurant. How many times has she died for my mistakes? Somewhere along the line, it should be known that a person won’t change. That they will be a constant path of pain for all other’s who walk on it and no redemption should be offered to them. When that’s the case, when that rare person of destruction comes along, they should cease to exist along with all ties. I should cease to exist. Rather than an opinion, this is my fact. This is the truth. This is as concrete as the ground we walk on. There are two constants in this world, life and death. Every living thing is born and dies. There is one more constant. My pain….

Nyssa tried to be there for me but I didn’t let her. I stopped going to work. I didn’t even like my job. I was just a character in their story. A line in their pages. I would hold Axle but I wasn’t enough. He was the only one that felt the same pain as me and he couldn’t do a thing about it. He stopped eating. He wouldn’t move from the bathroom door. The only time he wasn’t there was when he sat by a photograph. Me, Diana, and him. We were sitting down and as big as he was, he sat on our lap as if he was two months old again. We seemed so happy, it’s hard to remember how that feels anymore.

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

I woke up to the sound of pounding but I couldn’t find out from where. I moved all around the apartment, looked outside my window, looked outside into the hallway, but the sound remained the same no matter what and I could not find out why. Then I felt a sudden migraine. I heard a whisper.

“Up here”

“Who’s there?!”...... A faint laughter. I couldn’t see anyone. I went to the bathroom to wash my face and I stood in panic or fear. I don’t know what I was feeling. In the center of my eye stood Geffrey. He wanted out.

“Thank you. I’ve been stuck up here. Would you mind letting me out? I’ve been in some dark places but your mind… WOW. Anyways, I just need you to move your eye please. It’s kind of in the way.”

A compelling feeling. I felt as if my body wasn’t my own. I was a passenger in a body that looked like mine, merely along for the ride. I stood there staring at myself in the mirror except.. I wasn’t myself. My arm lifted up. I could feel what I was about to do. I yelled. I yelled and yelled. But the man in the mirror just smiled back at me. I dug two fingers in around my eye, under my eye lids. My eyes were too damp for a good hold, so I had to dig my nails in.

“Hey! Watch it. I’m still in here you know.”

In that moment, something clicked. I was me again. But I didn’t stop. He was in my eye. I could crush him with some pressure and my nails. I was in excruciating pain as I could feel each tendon connected in the back of my eye stretching beyond its capacity and then tearing. Every nerve ending attached to my eye shredding. I feel it all, but if this is my chance to get rid of him once and for all, I take it. I rip my eye out of its socket and drop it on the floor. I look down as my eye sat there on my white and black checkered tile floor, noticing that He is gone. I was so careful and I failed. He laughs again.

“You idiot. I’m not in your eye. I’m everywhere, but I’ve made your mind my home. So thank you.”

I can feel him smiling in there. This is a game to him, and I’ve already lost.

She keeps waking me up. Her yells. Nyssa tried to have me put into an institute. She thinks I’m crazy. I know I’m not. I’m the only one that sees. For a brief moment, let’s stop to blaze in the glory of the name “Cuckoo Cage”. Whoever named that place has more problems then the people that go there. Anyways, I wasn’t gonna stop Geffrey so I learned to deal with it. A bit of morphine never bothered anyone. But sooner or later, the drugs wear off and the high you were on is gone. You’re back to falling deep and fast. I was falling, but there was no abyss There was no end or beginning. I was as grounded as I can be while free falling through space. And yesterday I fell hard. I finally reached the bottom. And right now, Geffrey is on his way.

There is no more fighting it. Axle is dead. He wouldn’t eat. Eventually, he fell asleep and didn’t wake up. He’s with his mom now. And soon, we’ll be a family again.

“Blake! Open the door. Don’t do this! You have so much to live for. We can help!!”

“Lower your voice Geffrey boy. I’m right here. There’s no need to shout.”

“Gef?... Blake, it’s me. It’s Nyssa. Let me in. I can help you. Just let me in!”

“I’m not an idiot Geffrey. You wanted to kill me but,... I can do that myself.” I picked up the loaded revolver. I’m finally gonna be done.

“You know, she wanted to paint this room. It always seemed dull to her. I guess now it won’t seem too dull.”

“Goddamnit blake. Don’t do this.”

“God didn’t damn me. The devil did.” You guys might not wanna see this. All it takes is a slip of a finger. A single moment and…

BAM