WRIT12010 – Creative Writing II: Writing Beyond the Page

Chapter One…



The moment my bumbling fingers removed the delicate golden caps from their damp excrement littered, dairy field home, I had unknowingly embarked on a one-way maiden voyage to hell. The bruised blue fungus had tasted just as unappealing as it looked, but then I’ve never drank liquor for the taste either. I had been with my friend John who wanted no part in my shit picking antics, but was equally eager to drink. We returned to my dump of a shared home where others were huddled around the bong in my room passing it back and forth like a cat toying with a mouse. I quickly found my spot in the rotation, knocking back shots of rum between hits when to my surprise John had entered freshly showered. Expecting the same of myself, he was sorely disappointed to see me deep in a smoke filled haze with no recollection of agreeing to go out drinking earlier that day.

As if to end my rebuttal before it began he started, “Well the cab is on its–“.

Knowing exactly what was to come next, I interrupted letting out a tired and drawn out “fuck…” this was typical John, no messing about, only drinking and if the booze dried up maybe a girl.

Emerging from the comfort of my chair in something of a frenzy, I hurriedly throw on a shirt and I’m ready, because I know he’s just going to bitch if there were any other outcome. Soon afterwards there is the sound of a horn out front, its bottoms up and time to get down. He makes his way to the passenger side while the back has apparently been reserved for me.

As the door closes and the driver pumps the gas, only now are the effects of this terrible drug creeping in. My sober partner gives directions, and with each passing word I melt further into the seat which has quickly become my safety net. Our destination was of no consequence. Our short journey into town had only just begun, but all signs pointed to it being a cold, hard, bummer of a trip. The taxi careens around the first bend in the road at what feels like the speed of light and colours begin peeling off whatever sorry objects they were once attached to. Yet all the while inside the 131-008 mounted black and white bubble all action is still taking place in real-time and my tiny brain is struggling to comprehend how that even when stationary the blurs of colour continue to fly by. Head slightly askew nestled against the seatbelt, my eyes furiously dart from left to right scanning the scenery for an answer. Am I just a fleshy raindrop passing through a rainbow? Am I the eighth colour of the rainbow?? Is someone talking to me??? I’m sure someone is talking to me. Someone is talking to me! My head shifts to see my friend no longer in the car, the smack of reality has temporarily ceased my blurred vision and there is a knock at the window by my side that only furthers my panic. It was John; oblivious to the fact he is standing in what was the violet spectrum moments earlier, he is frantically gesturing me out of the vehicle towards indigo like a traveler in the desert that had just seen an oasis.

“It’s a mirage man,” I stammered.

“I know; there’s no line, it’s great,” he quickly responded.

It was at this point I realised how alone I was. There would be three hundred plus people inside this venue happily grounded on earth, and then there was me on another planet, worlds apart.

My eyes still adjusting to the world as I see it now, I almost blink each word out, “I can’t go in there dude!”

His face looked both puzzled and disappointed but his mouth said it all, “What the fuck man? You can’t be that fucked! We’ve only been gone twenty minutes and I just paid for the cab, you have to come in for at least one”.

Unable to get into the specifics of the cab ride I simply explained, “Shit got real weird in the car, just don’t leave me alright?”

He laughed it off, unaware of the true nature of my plight, and with all the composure I could muster in my drug addled mind traversed the stairs to meet the muscle junkie at the door. Now I wasn’t a praying man, but I had hoped to be denied entry over some trivial bullshit like my shoes weren’t fancy enough. Alas, this was a raggedy part of town and my movements were unlike that of a drunk so I was ushered in. Much to my disappointment, the joint was packed to the rafters and it was a rowdy crowd. I’m two paces in and met with stimulation overload, John says something I can’t make out over the music and as I turn to acknowledge his words the crowd has already enveloped him. He belongs to them now I thought, he has successfully assimilated into their pack mentality and I am doomed. I knew the layout of the venue well; it was basically a large room with a bar at its center which could be accessed from all sides. I assure myself he’ll be tending to his thirst and I regrettably proceed to doing a lap with the intent of scouting my lost companion out. I’m now six paces into the crowd, all is well, seven, my spirits are lifting and I raise my head with them, eight. The horror!

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These things needed to be locked in cages away from the public. They had the appearance of humans, but with mouths that would extend right the way round their heads, with nothing keeping their skulls from sliding off as they fueled themselves. Each had four eyes positioned symmetrically allowing for 360 degree vision, as if they were humans cut into quadrants. Animals unlike any creatures I’d ever seen before; savage beasts with eyes always on me, and there was no room to escape. An unsettling fear spreads through my body; don’t become a victim, ignore this terrible drug at all costs, escape with your life if you can! This anxious state now causing my senses to heighten, my ears could bleed from their shrill screams and boisterous laughter. Fixing my eyes to the floor I complete the circuit posthaste, unwilling, unable to meet the gaze of the all-seeing four eyed monstrosities surrounding me. The man I once knew as John is now an after-thought, he has either sided with them or fallen prey to their wicked schemes. Furiously trying to remain calm I hit the street and while they are no longer visible, still I feel their eyes piercing my skin, feeding off the ever mounting fear, seeing through my facade. I take some solace sitting on a boulder in a garden, yet constantly looking over my shoulder for them to reemerge. Scrambling for my phone, manic phone calls are made pleading anyone to rescue me from the savages before they realise their cages aren’t bolted shut. Eventually, two figures pull up in a car claiming to be my housemates. I’m cautious to get in, were they who they said they were? Had the barbarians evolved to speaking my language? Throwing caution to the wind I climb into the vehicle as it seemed the lesser of two evils. Arriving home, I immediately enter my room to be met by a group still stuck in their tribalistic smoke ritual.

I cry, “Out, out, everyone get out!” while tearing the shirt from my back.

Puzzled, they scatter out, I’m not about to take any chances here. Locking the door and removing the remainder of my clothes, I enter the ensuite. Like some kind of drugged and deranged rape victim I attempt to scrub away the shame and confusion. The water washing over me does nothing to subdue the drugs hold on me and the fear begins to surface again, they’re here, they’re in my room.

“Get the fuck out!” I scream, racing out of the shower and leaving it running.

My hairy naked body retains the shower’s water, dripping everywhere as I frantically check behind curtains and clothes in the wardrobe for traces of the vile swine. No such luck, they are a crafty bunch, don’t let them get the better of you! Returning to the bathroom, I sit on the cold tiles, cowering in the corner, forcibly controlling my breathing to the sound of the running water and a mantra of, “It’s all in your head”.


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