The Devil Is In All Of You

My phone kept on ringing. I left it on the table. And took several hits of rum. The ice had already melted but my drink was nicely cold. The goddamn phone kept on ringing. Nobody ever bothered to call me and ask how I was or that shit. But tonight it was ringing. Somebody wanted to talk to me. And I didn't. 

I never considered myself to be a bad person, let alone rude or uncaring. Friends always told me that I should learn how to be assertive.  But I just didn't want to answer that phone call. I took another hit of Bacardi and washed it down with beer. I could feel the booze making its way into my system, slowly but surely. It felt good. 

I noticed that my phone had stopped ringing. I turned it off. My ipod was in my bag, on the chair next to mine. I reached inside my green Converse bag and grabbed it. I managed to untangle the headphone's cable and I put them on. I liked this place, Mandragora, a run-down rock pub with a broken PA system. The perfect place for me to get on with my writing.

I enjoyed being there. Cheap booze, darkness and pictures of rock bands no one had ever heard of before hung perfectly from the slimy walls. Decoration or just a vain attempt to cover up the filth of these walls, I thought. I liked slimy walls better, I smirked.

I had shared this place with only a few people. They never liked it. It stinks like piss, one said. The other two had a posh attitude towards everything and they rated this bar as a shit hole. I didn't care. I can be here by myself, I thought. I enjoyed being alone. With some drinks and my notebook. Alone was ok.

I began writing some lines. It was November 2010. I kept on drinking. Another beer?, the waiter asked me. And a shot of Absinth, I replied.

Soon the drinks were on the table, right next to my black leather notebook. I wrote and wrote. Cold Red Light by IAMX was playing. I felt the energy flow through my skin towards my fingertips. I was writing something that wasn't part of what I had intended to write. I had had some beers and I was shooting up absinth straight into my blood.

I closed my eyes and when I opened them I was heading towards the toilet. It stank of shit and cigarettes. But I didn't care. The doors of the toilet actually locked. Something unusual about toilets of places like this. I liked to be able to lock myself in the bathroom and do my business without having to care about being interrupted by drunk patrons of Mandragora.

I was there. I wiped clean the toilet seat. I unzipped my pants and pulled them down. I sat down. I wasn't sure if I wanted to shit or just to piss. It didn't matter. Marilyn Manson began to play.

"Hey, cruel world…You don’t have what it takes

We don’t need your faith.

We’ve got fucking fate."

I sat there looking at the walls of this one toilet I was at. There was nothing new to see. Stickers of Anti Fascism and graffiti. I checked to see if there was enough toilet paper. There was plenty. I was fine.   

"The center of the universe

Cannot exist

When there are no,

No edges"

Manson sang. And I listened. Then the middle eight of the song kicked in. I could hear some people outside. I could make out some banging. I could only think. Are they fighting?. Should I stay in here?. Should I call the police?. Fuck, I thought, I don't know what to do. I heard some screaming. The banging got louder and so did the song. I will stay here, I said to myself. There is no way I am going to open this door now. I paused the song. I removed my headphones. The shouting got quieter and quieter. And in an instant, it was quiet as a grave.

I waited. I pulled my pants up and tried to peek through one of the cracks the door bore as a signature of violence and of bravery. There was nobody outside. At least no one I could see. I thought of running away from that place. I thought of the fact that I still had to pay for what I had ingested. I thought of leaving the bathroom and being blamed for the raucous. Shit, I thought of being mauled by the ferocious men that instants ago had been fighting in this very place. 

I opened the door and the first thing I saw was a man lying on the floor. There was no blood. Only piss and paper towels everywhere. I left the toilet as quickly as I could. They Waiter was at my table replenishing my beer. I waved at him, and signal him to come with me. He did. 

He stopped right outside the toilet and right in front of me. What? he asked. There was a fight, I said, and a man is on the floor, I continued. He opened the door and went inside. I followed. He stooped down and put his hand on the man's neck. He went on, this man is deceased.

Hrms Etc

8.1.13