Alive

© 2001

I watch.

Sounds voyeuristic doesn’t it? Don’t worry I am not that sort of watcher. I haven’t been interested in sex for what, two years? Three? My thrill comes from this, better then Coke, better then Speed, and one hell of a lot better then sex.

I watch as he gets out of the car, that lovely brown hair- oh how I want to touch it, feel the texture between my fingers and lips- is bobbing slightly as he moves. He has someone with him, his latest bitch though I will not say her name. She looks at him with those doe eyes, god- how can he lower himself to hanging around with such an empty shell?

Empty shell, I feel a wave of nausea at that thought and it spoils the moment. SHE spoilt this almost perfect moment for me, Whore. They are moving up the red carpet now, smiling at the camera flashes and loving it.

Empty shell.

Does he know what he had done to me? Does he know that he basks in this light because of me? Because he has sucked the light out of me and turned me into an empty shell. A thing without life, hollow and dead.

He is holding his whore’s arm now, pushing their faces together and smiling that perfect smile for the cameras. Flash, flash, basking in the light. My light.

I feel so sick I have to go, stumbling against one of the shadow people that surround me. The shadow say’s something but I snarl and it backs away to let me pass. This, seeing him here, was meant to be perfect. It was my day to bask in the light he has stolen- to not be a shadow person even if only for a heartbeat.

She has ruined it! His whore, his bitch, God how I hate her right now.

I wish I could talk to him, explain so that he would understand what he has let her do. I know he would not do it deliberately, no, not him. He can be thoughtless sometimes, not realise what he is doing.

I know he would not have done this deliberately but I am too sick to care. I push through these moths who try to bask in his light and run home to my hotel room.

I throw up as soon as I am back, hating that moment of utter powerlessness as the convulsion grips me and the vomit is forced through my throat. I hate it when I cannot breathe even for that moment. That feeling of dying, of drowning…God it’s just like that time my brother held my head under in the bath. The memories make me shake with rage. He wanted to steal my light too, because he had none of his own he needed it. He could not accept that he was just a shadow, my brother, a reflection on the wall of the cave…..I’m thinking of Plato now.

Socrates told Plato about the shadows, though not so most people could ever hope to understand. They are just too blind, too stupid, too locked up in the illusion. If you tied some people to the wall of a cave so they could only see the wall they would see the shadows of people passing….if they spent their whole lives there then they wouldn’t know anything else. The shadows would be the things to them.

I am one of those that broke the chains, escaped the cave and saw the real things where they see only the illusion. I saw the light.

Then imagine, if you will, the reaction when the escape returns and tells the prisoners in the cave what they have seen. Do you think any of them believe? No, they are to caught up in their mental prison. They cannot dare to even imagine that there could be more.

I feel better now, still shaky and weak at the knees but the last convulsion brought up blood which usually means that I am empty. No more vomiting.

Empty shell.

I wash my face in the bathroom sink and make my breathing even out. Good, good, the walls stop jerking from side to side in my vision and the floor levels out. I did some stuff once that made the whole room, people furniture, the lot, turn into a cartoon. That was bad, very bad, but he is a bigger drug. He’s my addiction and will be until I get it back.

How did he steal it? I really do not know, just that he took it all. Took MY life and made it his.

I decide I need a hit, fumbling with my travel bag I spill the contents on the bed….where did I leave it? Where is it for God sake?

Ahh, I find it, pulling open the rubber bung. A line will make me better; it’ll fill me up with the light.

It takes two lines before I am buzzing, before I am back on the level of life where I belong. I can feel the artificial light filling my chest….it’s never as good as it was before. Before he stole it.

When did I realise what he had done? Not when I first saw him, on a little show with a bit part. I fell in love with him then, was that how he got inside me?

It was latter, when everything started to go wrong, that I realised what was happening. He was getting rich and famous, bigger while I shrunk and my life was beginning to crumble. Slowly I began to see the connection, realise that he was taking the light out of me just like Daddy used to. He was stealing my life and using it for himself. Eventually my partner could not put up with me any more, said that I was obsessed, sick. Took my children from me.

HE STOLE MY LIFE!

That night I work. Moving around after him is expensive sometimes, thank god that he settled down a little after he bought that big house or I’d never be able to keep up. Wherever I am there are always red light districts, oh you have to be careful-very careful! I have had pimps chase me with knives, and even axes and guns. They need to watch over their bitches, male and female. The people whose lives they’ve been feeding on, using just like He uses me.

I find a punter, a dirty old man in a raincoat- the archetypal perv, but then my life welcomes archetypes doesn’t it? Sometimes I feel like I’m not real, just a made up person pretending. I am good at pretending, Daddy made sure of that. The punter has that look, ashamed but demanding as he whispers his pleasure. I nod, looking around before I take him into the back street. Money changes hands, not a lot, but I need it so very badly because He is going to go back home tommorow and I don’t have the fare to follow.

Kneeling and unzipping the old man’s trousers I pull his wrinkled member out and close my eyes. I pretend that it’s HIS, that he has finally come around, seen what he has to do to make things right. If I’m high enough it works, and just for that moment I am perfectly happy. My customers are always pleased when that happens, unless they are the kind of sicko that get off on my pain and disgust.

This old man is one of those, and he begins to whisper THINGS, bad things. He tells me that I am dirty, a filthy thing only good for the gutter. He ruins the illusion, bringing me back to this veil of tears, to this dirty ally where I’m kneeling in a puddle that may or may not be water.

Big mistake.

I bite him, bite him hard enough that he screams and his blood flows into my mouth. Blood, his life, pours out between my lips- have I severed it? No, but I’ve hurt him badly. I fumble at my boot while he rains ineffectual blows down on the top of my head.

Daddy always said I had a cast iron jaw, and he should know shouldn’t he? Daddy knew me better then anyone did, except for HIM, but Daddy never turned away from me. Not until he died in that fire I set.

The knife is in my hand now and I drive it up into the old man, feeling the orgasm wash over me as I penetrate his shell. Again and again I drive the little blade into his body feeling his light escape. I want to capture it, take it from him and make it mine so that I can live again.

Eventually he falls, breathing in little ragged gasps as I reach into his coat, fumbling for his wallet. I take it and run.

I am invisible as I make my way back to the hotel. No one sees me; I am just a shadow like them. Though I feel the light inside me I can hide it from their eyes.

I see them, but they do not see me.

Back in the safety of the room I shower the blood off me- no one looks at the blood when this happens. I’ve walked through a crowded street in daylight and no one ever asked why I was covered in wet blood. They are nothing, blind to the real world that I live in.

When the blood is gone I bundle my cloths into a carrier bag and throw them into the corner. Tomorrow I’ll drop them before I leave town. I feel good for the first time in weeks, walking naked and dripping around the room, touching myself all over.

I am alive again.