Ben C. O. Grimm

I performed the usual rituals to stamp out the dark thoughts that made the night a living hell. In my pursuit to find even darker pits to make my gruesome mental abode seem like a spacious and inviting castle, I opened the jewel boxes and inserted the darkest gems one by one. But Joy Division couldn't sell me their atrocities. The Swans raped a slave, but didn't manage to turn me on. Cannibal Corpse produced a stampede, but I watched it go by and wasn't driven forward and out, out. I buried my skull between the raging shells, but the noise went straight through me and didn't leave a soothing trace. Fear, emptiness, despair. Words of torment and debauchery, but they couldn't lift me up and bring me closer to the light. So I fled. Never looking further than the next few steps, focused on the asphalt reflection and the intricate structure of oil stains and mashed roadkill. Wide-eyed and mumbling, with clenched but helpless fists in my trouser pockets, I proceeded, angled forward, ready to fall flat on my face and die on the spot. But to me, even dying required some sort of rational decision, and I wasn't up to that. Short of breath, dragging my feet, every movement the result of involuntary processes. My brain somehow managed to maintain a balance, albeit a purely physical one, like a madman pressing all the right buttons out of sheer habituation, but totally unaware of cause and effect. Guided by nothing more than the reflection of the next street light, I left the trusted parts of the urban landscape. The darkness I yearned for enveloped me more and more. The first conscious observation was caused by a sudden violation of the light code that had led me to this spot. Two slashes in the road seemed to mark the end of the world. I looked up. I had stopped short of impenetrable darkness, just a few feet ahead of me. But I had wanted to lose the thuds and screams inside, not the road or myself. The slashes turned out to be an old railway, connecting the now decrepit, but once industrious conglomerate of warehouses, factories and loading docks with the water front, where bright lights and a myriad of sounds and smells marked the gates to the world. But the energy and profits had left this wasteland, lured away by the promise of silent and passive wage slaves and suppressed and corrupted trade unions in other continents, where darkness was the rule. I faced the now anemic plains, scattered with crumbled brick walls, lop-sided sheds and abandoned rusty trailers, saved from total oblivion by the diffuse light of the city behind me, deflected by the wet fog just overhead. I made a right turn and followed the railway, leading into the now defunct heartlands of economic activity. I had expected rats, but they didn't show their beady eyes. Maybe they had left as well, discouraged by the absolute absence of life. Confronted with the oppressing silence and the despondent decay, I could feel my mind becoming one with the surroundings. An unfathomable precipice within and without. Nothing between me and the world but the sound of my steps and breath, the rusty tracks to either side disallowing any other movement than forward. I lost track of time and distance. No room for fatigue or boredom. A mindless machine, barely driven forward by an energy source that seemed weak but inexhaustible. Even if I had wanted to lie down and find forgetfulness, I wouldn't have been in command. I obeyed orders, but remained unaware of reason or content. But the lack of responsibility and orientation agreed with me just fine. My head became silent and empty, the cold and wet air blunted sensation. I didn't hear the sound, but my almost disconnected subconsciousness did. I could feel the sudden tension in the shells of my ears. My head was raised and turned, like an awaking radar. I could hardly make out the contours of three interconnected trailers, left behind on a parallel track. They were covered with sheets of slightly transparent canvas. It took a long hard stare to observe the dim light under the trailers. Then I heard the sound that had activated my perception. The muffled cry of a baby. Or was it? What else could it have been? I had found no traces of animal life. And then there was the canvas, arranged in a clearly deliberate manner. Acute fear grabbed me. I could hardly breathe. Who were they? What would they do if they discovered my presence? No one in his right mind would come here, let alone live here. To take shelter here, one would have to be on the run from the world and its authorities. The moment I found out that I had been whispering to myself, it was too late. The canvas was raised. My first impulse was to run, but it wouldn't have gotten me anywhere. It was too dark to run, and walking along the tracks had been difficult enough. My body refused to cooperate anyway. All I could do was stand there and await further developments. It felt like a deja-vu going sour. An outstretched hand broke the soft ray of light. "Come", a voice spoke to me, "I've been expecting you." I couldn't move. My heart was pumping like crazy. The unrelenting rush of blood caused nausea and a cold sweat. The hand remained in place. "It's allright", the voice said, "please approach." I looked along the tracks. I looked behind me. No one around. No help. No escape. So, finally, I proceeded. More of the canvas was raised to make room for my entrance. The first thing I noticed was that there was only one person under the trailer. No baby. A small fire was burning. I tried to make out the face of the lonesome person under the trailer, but all I could see was the glistening of tears on his face. I didn't know what to do. It seemed inappropriate to shake hands or to formally introduce myself. The man moved away from me, on hands and knees. I could hear the rustling of paper. His hand, holding a faded newspaper, approached. The man threw it on top of the dying fire. The light under the trailer intensified. I looked the man in the face. I thought I would die on the spot. His face was mine. He smiled at me, and there was absolutely no doubt whom that smile belonged to. "Don't worry", he said, with my voice. He moved sideways, toward the canvas curtain. "I'm glad you came. I knew you would come. Someday. I can go back to the city now." I wanted to run, I wanted to scream, I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. But I couldn't move a finger. He sat there in silence. "I know how you feel", he said, "but there's nothing you can do. It's my turn now. My lease on life." And he left, with a final 'goodbye'. I looked at the fire, completely paralyzed. And I started to cry like a baby.

© Ben C. O. Grimm