The Desecration of the World I Knew

It seems that politics permeates every walk of life. Stomping down the literal sidewalk. How are these people being abused for trying to catch a bus? What have I gotten myself into? I barely ever paid attention to politics. It was always him relating the injustices and the issues back to me. His passion. I don't even know if I had a passion. 

Mesmerized by the sliding tile puzzle buildings continuing to shift and change, obsidian bodies are continually shoved in to the gaps and squeezed. Many of them are still alive and their hands flap, feet kick as they become a jeering approximation of Han's carbonite days. I can't focus. What was I saying before this? Oh, right. Space.

"We have to do something!" I shout at the unsympathetic driver. She spat at the floor again. Then she turned back to me and growled, "these are on a different journey than your own. There is nothing to be done."

"No. no, that just can't be right." I retorted.

"It is the way of things." She choked and sputtered, coughing up some gross phlegm like substance and spitting out through the little driver window on her left. 

Everything has devolved. I have no clue who these people are or why they are being treated the way they are. What would he have done? I always find myself thinking that. You know it is a cliché and I bet everyone who says it don't really mean it, but I think I really do when I say, he always made me want to be a better person. Or, maybe just like me, we say it and everyone means it, that they want to be better, but do they ever actually become better. He'd probably try to get off the bus, tuck and roll while it drove on, if need be. Ever the up-stander, he'd never sit idly by and here I am, at least twice now I've sat and watched while these - I'm still not even sure how to refer to them; creatures or were they people? Are they people? - are beaten and broken, only meters away from me.

Galvanized by thoughts of him and the old adage or acronym, both, wwhd, what would he do? I stood up. The minute that I did, as if in anticipation of my angst, violet eyes, a mix of fire and ice, flared in the rearview. They seemed to crackle with energy. The whole atmosphere of the bus darkened and became electric, a hollow wind whistled through creating an eerie chill. A strange tinkling sound echoed all around and all at once many hooks at the end of chains flew up from the floor, down from the ceiling and out of the nearest seats piercing my flesh and wrapping my arms and legs tight to the support bars around my seat forcing me down. I screamed in agony. Pain I never thought possible. It was absolutely incredible. Haunted by my favorite movie. How could this be?

I sat there and waited for the Cenobites to arrive but none of them did. Another question floated out of the darkest recesses of my mind. Something I hadn't given too much thought to until now; was I dreaming? But the answer came fast and just as painful as the chains and hooks; I couldn't be. This pain was remarkable, ineffable. No dream I've ever had felt like this, this physical. I struggled against the chains but that only tightened their hold. I was a fish who'd swallowed the hook, struggling to get free and forcing the hook deeper, dragging its edges across my guts and piercing it into the softest, most vulnerable parts of me.

"It is the way of things." Came the voice booming from every overhead speaker on the bus. I had to figure something out, a way out of this. Once again however, my needs trumped everyone else's and I forgot about what caused this in the first place. I had to be careful not to wedge myself in deeper. I had to think, but I was struggling with thought at the best of times.

The pain became too much and I passed out. Dreams within dreams suck. The only benefit to this was, I didn't feel. The problem with that was that when he showed up there was no feeling there either. He was beautiful and I felt nothing. Tight jeans that highlighted everything in all the right ways and a black t-shirt with some strange kabalic symbol that seemed to glow in the darkness of the bus.

"How are you here?" I asked.

"You are missing out on everything." He said.

"Thanks, that's real nice." My temper flared. I didn't need a lecture. "I'm on my way to see you. How am I missing out on everything?"

"You really don't get it, do you?" He asked.

"I'm getting really tired of the questions." I responded, as if it was him all along, goading me, tricking me, asking me where I was.

"There is no us. Not anymore. That is on you. You have to take responsibility for your actions. You have to figure things out and set them right. But, it might already be too late."

"What do you mean? I'll be at the party shortly. I'm coming and we're going to have a great time."

"No. Take this, it is the last time I'm going to help you. I loved you once. I can't do this anymore."

He reached out and began working at and loosening whatever was constricting me. "Hold out your hand." He instructed, wiping sweat from his brow. I did and he put something in it. It weighed nothing, a dream item. I looked at it and it confused me...