Track 30 Psychosis

Even though it was a cool afternoon in Apris, John Doe felt hot. He found himself standing next to a small sky-blue building in the heart of downtown. He wasn't exactly sure where he was, but the pounding headache persisted. 

The sensation was beyond perplexing—he felt sweaty, his hands clammy, akin to the throes of withdrawal or a severe anxiety attack. It shouldn't have been possible.

He'd forgotten who he was walking with minutes earlier. He knew it was a KTA member…it wasn't Zheanni…maybe Kholwa? No. That can't be it. It was a woman; it had to have been. Actually, no. It could've been Wyrryr or Bryck. They had a lot of tattoos. One even said 'KTA' right on their face. But they all have that same tattoo, don't they? It might've been Kholwa. They were trying to say something. It was important, for sure, but what was it? They were wearing some kind of diamond bracelet. 

"Ugh," John Doe moaned, "It's all so scrambled." 

He fumbled around every pocket of his all-black clothes. Not too sure what he was trying to find, but he frantically rummaged through each spot. For some reason, he kept hearing a vibrating sound, like the one a phone makes when on a wooden table. Large golden sunglasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, slightly crooked. The incessant noise competed with the bustling city around him. 

He stared at the phone in his hands. It looked familiar, but it wasn't his. Though that damned ringing still persisted. 

Crass music from the phone speaker of a nearby group of teenagers sent him stumbling across the busy street and into a nearby alleyway. Feeling like he couldn't balance on his feet anymore, he lunged, holding on to the side mirror of a car, breathing heavily. Just like back at the Auction house, his eyelashes felt like they weighed a million pounds. He reached for his face, realizing at some point he'd lost his sunglasses. 

Walking up Greco Street, past low, brightly colored mom-and-pop stores. It wasn't until a few minutes later that John Doe realized what was wrong. It dawned on him—he must've been invisible! Not a single soul paid him any attention, and not in a casual, apathetic manner. It was as if he existed in a parallel plane, devoid of any impact on reality, a silent observer without a single ripple.

Walking into the nearest store, John purchased the following items: a long caramel-smelling candle, which he placed lit in an elevator several hours later, a pair of golden shears, and a box of whiteboard markers. 

Moving down the sidewalk, still following the sound of his phone, he made a left, sliding between buildings past an antique store window; he found the alley. Black bags filled with garbage lined the curb. He strolled down, heading toward a homeless woman sleeping on a pile of trash. The shopping cart beside her was filled with food wrappers and empty cans. 

He stood over her. 

The woman woke up, yawning as she did so, her teeth a surprising combination of black and yellow. She looked at John Doe's outstretched hand warily. She reached for it, but he smacked it away. 

"Give it!"

She groaned, "I don't know what you want."

John Doe held out cash, "Is that what you want? Do you want this?"

Her eyes met his, and she glanced away shamefully. "Please," she whispered through her dry throat, licking her cracked lips. "I'm so thirsty."

"Jobless thieving rat!" He waved the cash in front of her face. "I can hear it in your pocket."

"I'm not…" 

"You aren't what?"

"I-" she wrapped her hands around her stomach, a miserable position. A coughing fit interrupted her words. She shook violently, and a vile-smelling yellow bile came from her throat; strings of spit lay across her soft, thin face. Focusing on the act in front of him made him feel more centered, fading his delusion. 

He, in view of her, slowly put the money back into his coat and reached for her jacket pocket. She grabbed onto his wrist, "I can't…I don't know what to do." She began to sob uncontrollably. 

Stepping over her, he lifted her shirt, undoing and pulling down her pants. Her red chaffed legs squirmed and kicked. The smell of urine wafted from her. 

Her sobbing stopped. She watched the glowing man in front of her, his aura flooding the alleyway with a red light. 

She started flailing furiously as he reached inside her, with one hand holding her down with the other, looking for anywhere she could have hidden it. 

"Oh," John Doe removed his phone from his pocket, swiping to answer the call. "Who is this?" John Doe yelled out. "Is this Zheanni?"

"John?"

"What?" He cried out.

"Where are you?" Her voice was softer than usual. "You disappeared on us. You were in talking about some shit, and you got all quiet and wandered out. John?" Zheanni asked. 

"Uh-"

"Are you in the city or country? I can come get you if-"

"No."

"Oh," she sounded disappointed, or maybe just confused.

"It doesn't matter," John screamed. "I'm not going to be around for much longer, anyway."

"Damn, you good?" 

John Doe used a bloody finger to hang up on her. He let out a muffled yell and backed away from the scene, tripping back onto the crowded sidewalk; he moved to the nearest building. Getting stuck in six revolutions of the spinning door, John Doe made it inside. Stumbling toward the blue-eyed clerk, who somehow didn't notice the gore covering his arms. The man behind the counter watched John Doe as he talked. 

The hotel room carpet was a sleazy velvet purple. Thinking back, he wasn't sure how or if he payed for the room. The gilt on the walls and furniture reminded John of the opulent castles that littered the hilly countryside of Apris, mostly owned by white-collar criminals or high-earning drug lords. 

He moved to the landline on the glass table. The glossy red phone hummed in his hand as he slammed the buttons. He called the front desk no less than four times, each time talking incoherently for minutes on end. The next call was a long-distanced one to cancel a membership to a gym he never he went to. 

The loud four-count thump on the door snapped him from his delusion. If he still had a heart, it'd be pumping in his chest right about now—they were definitely going to throw him out. He stared at the woman on the other side, confused at how she even found the place. 

"What you lookin' at me like that for?" 

"Zheanni?"

"Why you acting all surprised an' shit? You literally just told me to get here." 

He felt someone grip his hair, strong but delicate fingers twined through it. Her voice was calm, but her expression twisted with confusion and slight amusement. "It's okay," Zheanni soothed. They lay together on the bed. Her wet clothes from the outside downpour hung on a nearby chair. Her heart beat softly as she held him. Now, with his head placed against her chest, Zheanni's heart, so fluttery, like hummingbird's wings. "You can tell me what's wrong."