The Tranquility of the Ritual

       Human life is the most peculiar of things.  Every decision made is one more turn down a dark corridor into the descent of death, and no matter which choices are made, we all will meet the same fate. The inevitability of eventually being gone- to disappear from this world completely- is the only sliver of truth in a harsh existence of uncertainty. 
         And to cope in a world reeking of impending doom,  unfair judgment, and constant disappointment- I find my inner peace through the substances of the chemical world. 
     So here I am- all alone. A dim lamp shines its light from the corner of the room, casting shadows onto the pale off-white walls which are plastered with an assortment of posters- each depicting a variety of pop culture. The television is on, but nothing is playing; just an eery blue light emanating from its screen, and a subtle hum being transmitted into the air. The linoleum tiled floor- gathering dust from neglect- has an assortment of clothes scattered across the surface, collecting dirt from the days gone unwashed and forgotten. The bed is unmade, the sheets in a messy pile at the end of the mattress- which itself is covered in aging,  yperson’sd stains and cigarette burns.  If one were to listen closely, they would be able to hear the soft classical music playing subtly in the background- Beethoven’s beautiful “Moonlight Sonata” being the current track. 
     And, in the back corner of the room-hidden away as if in shame and disgust- is a wooden table whose surface is scratched and tarnished with the obvious signs of age and mistreatment. 
     This is where I reside.  A dim look of apathetic excitement is upon my face in the form of a barely visible smile as I stare at the small pile of glistening, snow white powder in front of me. 
      My true escape. My purest joy.  
      The one thing that, for a brief and fleeting moment, takes me out of the dismally dark corridor of the average life, and instead pulls me to the side- bringing me to a room off course of the journey; into a room of peace, content, and euphoria. 
      In front of me are my tools of the trade- the everyday utensils I utilize in such an illicit manner. Simple household objects, laid out in an orderly fashion, were what aided me in my endless quest of hedonistic self destruction. Among these items were: a new razor blade- sleek, with a lustrous sheen of youth; a dinner plate- marked up and chipped from constant use; a gray Bic lighter- nearly empty of fluid, the bottom of it covered in a light dusting of the same powdered crystals.  And, finally, a lone dollar bill- a bored looking George Washington blankly starting up at me. 
      If only our first president could see what people were like in the modern day- undoubtedly, he is scowling in his grave with disgusted contempt at the very nature of the average person’s gluttony. 
     Ritualistically, I grab the razor blade, carefully cutting up the crystalline powder into straight and even lines. I am meticulous, the process of preparing the substance being nearly as important as actually doing it. It was routine- something small and pointless to most that, in a magnificently morbid way, helps bring me to a place of serenity- a quiet, zen state where I’m at complete peace with the universe around me. 
     There’s a rapid fluttering in my chest; an intense yearning felt throughout my body.  One can’t help but get excited for the long awaited moment that was so rightfully deserved- so patiently waited for. Just the thought alone is enough to send chills of pleasure and anticipation through the entirety of my being.  
     But the air is still. My hands arranging the lines the only movement present- a peaceful aura enveloping the entire room with a soothing omnipresence- a serene quiet only felt when one is truly alone; a lovely and perfect place in their own little world. 
     The dollar bill is neatly rolled into a tight tube, Mr. Washington hidden away on the inside, undeserving to witness such an act of hedonistic pleasure. I put one end to my nose- carefully tucked away on the edge of my nostril- and the other to the start of a line. Sharply, I inhale, drawing the powder into my nasal cavity in one fluid motion. It burns so amazingly- my left eye starts to water slightly, and I utterly adore every aching moment. 
       One down, two left. I repeat the process again, and then once more. The ceramic dinner plate cleaned off completely- I lay back in my chair to give the glorious substance time to work it’s magic upon me. 
       My ritualistic performance was at an end- the onset of the drug coming on quickly; I was launched forward with unbelievable intensity- speeding full force off into hyperspace. 
       My heart was beating at a quick and steady pace; my breath came in quick bursts as an overwhelming high of euphoric waves rushed through my body at a constant rate. It was enough to knock the wind out of your lungs- to leave one breathless in a state of ecstasy. 
        This is what I lived for- the rush of the high; the need for speed and excitement; a craving for the wonderfully taboo. 
         And, just like that, I was to spend the next several hours in that cozy side room, just off course from that dreadful depressing walk towards the very bitter end of death. 
         And now, with a foolish idea of it never ending, I enjoy my existence just a little more.

The Door

It was Summer, and the perfect kind at that.  Breezy wind, warm sun, and just little specks of cloud decorated the sky.  Truly a fantastic time of the year. 
But I was stuck in a house, and worse than that, it was someone else’s.  A much nicer house that I could never afford that was my duty to clean and scrub on such a beautiful day.  A travesty. 

The house was big- big enough to get lost in.  It was a struggle to navigate through the never ending corridors and rooms like some robotic cleaning machine.  But I did it.  Day in,  day out. I made sure to earn my keep like I should.

At least this job pays decently.  Several people have been not so kind after I provided a luxury the majority of people would kill to afford.  
Is it fair? I suppose. At least for those work for it.  The trust fund kids are what get me.  Stuck up snobs with no sense of hard work or effort. 
Four hours I have been at it with a whopping six more to go.  Joy.

Letting out a large sigh, I walked into the nearest bedroom to clean like clockwork- just turning those gears. 

But there was something off about this room – this one was different. An odd presence hung in the air.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but that familiar feeling of uncertain intuition stayed persistent.  It appeared as if it hadn’t been touched since the mansion was built.  Forgotten it seemed in the labyrinth of uniformity and comfortable living.  
A fully made bed sat comfortably in the back corner, the blankets as crisp as day one.  Along the opposite wall sat two leather chairs along with a couch- they’re legs finished wood and the cushions sewed to perfection. An antiquity.  An excellent term to describe it.  However,  even in a state of age,  it was immaculate. Treated kindly by Father Time in a graceful and gentle process. 
Let’s get started. With a mental sigh I begin dusting the sleek cherry nightstand that could have cost a year’s salary.  The handles were gold with an ornate pattern that resembled the Victorian era while the wood- even with a layer of dust – was smoothly finished by the hand of a professional.  Ornate. 

I shifted the nightstand to clean behind it.  The dust flew up in a blinding cloud, causing a fit of coughing on my part.  
But when it settled I noticed something behind it.  A little door,  about three feet high with a battered wood finish staring at me, taunting me to explore to the other side. 

Of course I had to look.  Turning the handle slowly, the door let out a high pitch creak of pain.  Slowly,  I poked my head in.  And what I saw was indescribable. 

It was a field, no trees nor hills in sight,  with only the slightest bit of grass peeking from the earth. 
Holy shit.  
I went the rest of the way through, standing up to see a dreamscape of infinitesimal wonder.  
A deep blue sky reminiscent of the ocean hung above me while a glowing yellow sun dangled in the center.  The grass, while minimal, was the richest shade of green that no worldly grass could compare to.  A mild scent of freshness entered my nose,  relaxing me and putting my mind at ease. 
And the atmosphere- unbelievably tranquil.  A subtle aura of peace and well-being wafted across the plain in a way that told me everything would be okay- that all my pain and suffering was merely a projection of my own insecurities. A mere presentation of my personal mental discord.  
It was too good to be true.  No way this could be reality.  
I had to tell people. 

I turn around for the door, and a gasp escaped my lips. What was by far the worst possible scenario had in fact unfolded upon me in a timely display of unfortunate luck. 
The door was gone.  
Not a trace of anything for what seemed to be dozens of miles.  Just an empty field with a lone man standing within it- confused and frightened in this strange new world he found himself in. 

An overwhelming sense of intense dread washed over me.

And I was alone.

The Cursed Cubicle Chronicles Pt. 1

Tales of Empereon :
The Cursed Cubicle Chronicles-
The Unfortunate Case
Of Brown Noser Joseph Taylor

A short and portly young man of around 32 with long, hay-colored hair struts into his first day of work at the infamous call center, the happiest place on planet Earth- Empereon. He walked with an aura of undeserved confidence and an appearance of the world’s best brown noser. His hair was overly gelled and styled poorly in a failed attempt at professionalism; his cheap suit and tie combo was the definition of tacky; and a too perfect looking blonde goatee that was clearly obsessed over neatly adorned his face with a pencil line thin and a geometrically perfect shape. This man, who goes by the name Joseph Taylor, was the type of guy who was bullied ((to the point of near suicide on several occassions))((so severely his self-esteem hasn’t been in existence since he was in middle school)) and as a result developed a delusional sense of self confidence and an arrogant and false sense of being owed the universe from the entire world. He was an expert player of the pity card (as well as an expert Pinochle player, but that’s not important) and proudly earned his PHD in “Douchebag Behavioral Studies”.

If you were a person of substance in the least bit and were smarter than your average middle-school drop out, you would want to beat the ever living shit out of him simply having a passing conversation about the weather with this obnoxiously awkward social pariah. He was simply the worst kind of loser that existed in this world- the type of person that caused your average adult to physically cringe with awkward embarassment.

He was walking into our devilish little call center loved by all of its employees with the idea he was going to run it one day as CEO or some shit- what a joke. How a man like him is capable of kidding himself so completely is beyond comprehension. A delusional dweeb with an attitude. Joseph wasn’t built for this place- in fact, he was severly incompatible with everything the Empereonites valued and stood for. Out of place like a tadpole in the desert.

Allow me to explain a little better. This wonderful call center known as Empereon is a safe haven for all of its employees who respect the boundaries and rules put into place by The Almighty Company. Empereon will always have our best interest at heart, no matter the circumstance. On the other hand, those new hires that don’t respect The Company, or those renegades who attempt to destroy the sanctity of our lives with unacceptable ((sacreligious)) behavior will not be tolerated.
No exceptions.
The Almighty Empereon is our blessing, and ungrateful workers who minimize our positions or values will severly regret it in the deepest ways imaginable.

During his training on how to sell things over the phone to the dreaded Consumers (something he daydreamed straight through), Joseph kisssed the ass of every single manager, HR , and supervisor- not one asscheek of importance was spared an painfully uncomfortable molestation and emotionally scarring display of beta male behavior. He was a textbook definition of Napoleon Syndrome, and the fellow trainees saw through this loser’s barely veiled transparency within the first few hours of their first day. Not a soul would ever describe Joseph as a complex or cryptic individual. Just simply to easy to figure out.
After training, when he was actually attempting to sell products to the vile, malicious ogres we all know as our Consumers, the ass kissing and general desperation shifted into maximum overdrive and he was nearly immediately lodged snugly and securely up the rectums of each and every high ranking employee.

Following a series of various write ups describing what was called “insubordination” and “poor and inappropriate behavior”, Mr. Taylor- after a heated argument with not one, but three neighboring coworkers that ended with some nasty sounding words being slung maliciously across the office- was promptly moved to the far side of the office nearly by himself. The only other person in his immediate vicinity was a rude, sarcastic and dark individual named Gage. Joseph was terribly intimidated by his neighboring co-worker, going through extreme measures to distance himself however he could. The man, no older than 23, was positively frightening. Joseph couldn’t place his finger on what the cause was, but the youngster gave off a menacing air of discord. Gage treated Joseph Taylor in the same manner of torment as his old high school bullies- ridiculously merciless with cruel and ((relentliss))((vicious)) words.The moments that Gage wasn’t belittling Joseph’s confidence and self-esteem down to nothingness were a rare gift from the gods themselves, and he found himself becoming addicted to the passing times of mental peace that were free of anguish.

During one of these pristine moments he craved so desperately, Joseph heard a strange crackling noise- it sounded almost like active electricity, but deeper in tone and more punishing for the ears. The sound started as barely a whisper, but it rapidly increased in volume steadily until it was impossible to withstand. In one action-packed moment, Joseph’s hands sprang to his ears; his heart quadruple backflipped into his throat while its pace simultaneously multiplied exponentially ; his mind went into an instant state of panic- disoriented and confused- he was to the point of near delirium. Joseph did not have the slightest idea of what was happening; all he knew was that whatever it was that was happening was pure evil, unearthly and horrifying.
He desperately looked around at his coworkers- not a single one seemed to have heard of him. All were oblivious to the pure essence of fear and darkness that was happening right next to them; they were blissfully ignorant to the noise and torment that ensued. Joseph paniced harder and made an attempt to bolt out of the building, but his entire body refused to move, as if all of his nerve ending had been severed.

Literally, he was paralyzed with fear and terror as his life flashed before his eyes in a rapid succession of fleeting memories that cascaded past his eyes in a surreal slideshow of his own existence.
In that moment of observing the entirety of his life, he watched it with an unsettling feeling of resent, horror, and shock.
And when it’s over- he’s discontent and full of regrets that only a man who wasted his entire life angry with the universe can feel. The only kind of resentment felt by those who regret their entire existence that will never be able to get it back.

In a surreal moment of warping and transformation (it resembled a low budget horror flick), the walls of his cubicle grew long and grisly legs- almost like spider legs, but reptililan and slimey mucus green. Taking only the briefest of moments, the legs wrapped themselves around Josephs body, entrapping him in a cage of cold, scaley spines that pressed against his skin uncomfortably.
Still paralyzed with fear, Joseph couldn’t look away from the computer screen instensely glitching out in a display of static and technicolor patterns- it was hypnotizing. A ripple could be seen coming from the computer as if it was made of a viscous liquid like oil. And, emerging from the center like the beast out of the swamp, a pair of bulging disco ball insect eyes showed first, glistening in the flourescent light menacingly. A razor sharp pair of pincers with a long, wriggling pink tongue flicking hungrily between them followed closely behind. The appearance of the whole head was that of a cheesy sci-fi movie hybrid of a praying mantis and a serpent morbidly fused together as the result of some freak accident while humans were attempting to play the part of god.
It reared it’s ugly noggin and made a horrifying screech that pierced sharply through Joseph’s entire being like white-hot pins. He attempted to scream as loudly as he possibly could, but all that came out was a pitiful choking sound. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways- it was over for Mr. Joseph Taylor.
The otherworldly creature glared curiously at its next meal, inspecting it for flaws; judging it how a human judges fruit at the market.
     Chomp
Without prior warning, the alien being- Empereon legend and folklore refer to it as The Otherly- latched onto the top portion of Joseph’s head and cleanly sliced it in half. Blood and gray matter sprayed gruesomely in every direction.
This was the moment his muscles began to work, and he flailed in the air like a fly stuck in the spider’s web. The front of his pants became soaked with urine and an incredibly large wet spot was formed rapidly. Incredibly fortunate Joseph was to not had been witnessed by anyone. It wouldn’t be a pleasant way to remember him (not that that was possible).
The creature roared in a display of cocky triumphance before finishing off the rest of his meal. And then, in the blink of the eye, everything was back to normal. The only item or sign left that proved the existence that Joseph Taylor had ever worked there was his headset resting on his seat.

Next to him, his cubicle neighbor, Gage, chuckled evilly and flashed a demon-like grin; his eyes, for the smallest of moments, flashed a glowing crimson red.
He let out a hearty yet brief laugh, and leaned back in his chair casually. He places the headset into the drawer next to him among four other sets of “lost” headphones who’s owners were long forgotten.
“Ahh…” Gage said contentedly as he got back to work. “Got myself another one.”