Living Slightly Deranged

Lips wrapped around that cigarette like a vice. His face was pale and clammy, truly he gave the impression of one far locked in substance abuse. “All the better,” I mumble with a grin, “that you’re willing to use what you sell.”

That malnourished, hunched figure made mine look as the statue David in its perfection. He just looked up at me with wide dilated eyes.

“You don’t look like an acid head, son..” He observed, “’Sure you wouldn’t rather try your hand at some good Mary Jane first?”

Son? At this I laughed and slid very close to this unnamed form.

“Listen..” I whispered deeply.

I looked away from those eyes across the deserted street but continued to address him. “Despite my youthful countenance, I assure you that I outnumber you in years by more than I’d care to answer. Now. I didn’t come here for a few ounces of your closet-grown pot, kid. There’s several places that I could acquire that with a lot less difficultly.“ I grasped his shoulder as his thin fingers fumbled around in a pocket.

“If you insist, sir..” he breathed as he pulled out a small glass vial.

“There’s a good boy,” I grinned as a slid out my billfold.

“Two-fifty..” he said as his eyes wandered to my wallet.

I pulled out a wad of cash and stuck it in his hand, grabbing the vial and pocketing it.

I watched the guy recount the money before meeting my eyes again.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” he grinned , showing near white gums and yellowing teeth.

“We’ll see about that. Keep in mind it wouldn’t be hard to find you, if , God forbid, your product wasn’t up to the standard of quality that I am expecting. “ I patted him on the cheek. “Keep that in mind, kid. “

I walked back down the street, all the while fingering that little vial in my pocket. I became enamored with watching my boots slosh through the shallow puddles on the sidewalk. I felt myself grinning about the simplicity of my new acquisition. That kid, he wasn’t smart enough to try and cheat me. He certainly seemed hesitant to let a new customer procure these few drops of colorless liquid.

I was so deep in thought that I almost passed my own apartment. I fished for the keys as I walked inside, soon coming upon my humble door on the second floor. I turned the doorknob and my eyes scanned the room. Papers scattered about the floor, couch cushions tossed a various locations. The look of a burglary was everywhere, but that is exactly how I had left it earlier that day.

I tiptoe around the papers and come to stand in front of one of three easels. This one was blank. That sickening stark white that would make any artists stomach churn with unrest.

Tonight’s the night then. I couldn’t suppress a giggle as I pulled out the vial in my pocket. It was full to the brim, and I was instantly consumed by compulsion to down all the liquid inside. I shook it off and jogged into the kitchen.

Where the hell were the sugar cubes? I opened the cabinet and was rewarded with an answer.

I paused. Why the hell do I have sugar cubes? A food that’s only exclusive use would be as giving to horses does not belong in a New York apartment. Whatever.

I opened the vial. Now.. what did that man say? A single drop would be more than enough. Right, I’ll go with him on that. The liquid dropped onto the sugar and the sugar dropped into my mouth.

I walked over to my favorite couch cushion and flopped down.

My mind quickly retraced the conversation held just days before that led up to my current events.

“Good coke’s hard to come by anymore,” a man with blood shot eyes and full beard announced.

“Jesus, you’re not kidding, “ I replied as I snorted the last of the white substance straight from the Ziploc baggy. “It’s just too fucking hard for them to smuggle the shit in anymore. “I sighed.

“What about the heroin?” my friend scratched his beard and leaned his head against the stone wall. “That do anything for ya?”

I growled, looking at the needle marks in my arm.

“It’s alright, but it mostly just makes me want more heroin. I’m not made of money. You’re bleeding.” I commented.

He pulled up his wrist and wiped the blood from his nostril.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a picky son-of-a-bitch, you know..” he laughed.

“I know. Pot’s out, just makes me lazy. Cocaine… well when I can get it certainly helps. Maybe I should look into opium…” I mentally explored the prospects of this euphoria-producing substance.

“Nah. What you need is some mescaline. Real pure- Or better yet, some LSD. I know a guy..”

My attention was sparked.

“A hard hallucinogen? Fuck I’ll give it a try.”

I had been hesitant to try it for a while, worried that I’d be too incapacitated to paint with something so altering in my system, but I was rapidly getting desperate.

So here I was. Sitting on this scarlet cushion for forty-five minutes. Watching that damned canvas as if it would attack given the opportunity. And I didn’t feel a damned thing. I irritably groped under the cushion, producing my last stash of cocaine. I grabbed a straw and drew the powder through my nostrils. I guess I’d been wrong, I thought as I closed my eyes. That kid was going to have a hard time tomorrow morning. If I didn’t have that commission he would be suffering tonight.

What the hell was that?

My eyes opened and I glanced around for the source of the sound. The room shivered around me as I tried to stand. Well, maybe I spoke too soon.

I watched in awe as the room continued pulse along with my heart beat until a buzzing sound interrupted my thought process and I remembered my objective. I got up and opened a tube of blue paint. “Fuck!” I shouted as a glob of it fell onto the floor.

I stared in disbelief as the puddle spread out endlessly, reaching for my feet. I stepped back and watched as the edges developed into thousands of little branches, growing and growing. Some reached the wall and climbed and weaved like a demented alien vine up my beige wall, covering the window completely. I stepped back further to look at the creature, and my foot hit something and a loud blaring filled the room. I whirled around covering my ears, but to no avail.

I saw the small television in the corner was on, screeching at me endlessly. White noise danced in an unknown rhythm across the screen, and I approached the box cautiously. My hand reached the knob and turned it. The screeching was replaced by a strange inhuman warbling. The creature on the screen was grotesquely misshapen. His hand reached out of the screen, his hand reached for me.

I stumbled back and scrambled away from the offending limb. It wailed in anger and reached further. “Sweet Jesus!” I regained my footing and ran to the other side of the room and grabbed the telephone. I dialed the number quickly.

It rang twice before a voice came across the line.

“Lo?”

“Oh, thank God, Casey! Quick, you have to help!” I exclaimed.

“Perry?” the voice rang back, “The fuck’s the matter man?”

I felt angry, how could he not know?

“You bastard, after all I’ve done for you? You’ll leave me here to die?”

“Calm down, Per.” He had insisted.

My eyes narrowed.

“You fiend, who are you? You’ll die for what you’ve down to him, you dirty bastards!”

I slammed down the phone and prepared for the fight to come.

Next thing I knew, my door was being forced open. A tall bearded man stood in the doorway and looked around in awe.

“My God man….”

My eye line traced his around the apartment. Mutilated couch cushions, the tv kicked over playing CNN on mute. Stuffing shoved in random cracks in the window. Paint splattering all over the floor leading up to a mural of a giant shadow covering half a wall, and a fully painted canvas directly in front of me.

The colors swirled in a medley, blended but somehow still having harsh outlines. They moved as you looked at them, twisting into a demented image of something one couldn’t quite place, but nonetheless filled you with a paranoia and uneasiness.

Casey looked at me wide eyed, and I burst into hideous laughter.

I’d found a new creative tool, and it looked like it would be a wonderful partnership.