Tale Of Souls (Cathartic Nightmare)

Leave the Lights On (Chapter 7)

After a few days of screwing up more, smoking weed in a bathroom in my own room, with the complete option of getting drunk until all hours of the morning, right now a box of Twinkies would be really damn good right now.  I guess being a wild reckless young adult has something to say for itself.  I’d say ‘om nom, nom delicioso’, but this isn’t Mexico and I’m not some monkey eating poop out of a backpack.

Just the other day I know I was pushing my luck with everyone.  The idea of screwing everything up was just the frosting on the cake it seemed like.  Except I wasn’t doing it out of pleasure, I’m genuinely sick of being alive.  Walking downstairs hung over, my toes, and heels are walking to this beat; it’s like a bad set of kid’s drums from Toys R Us.  It’s a banjo game today – stepping to a simple beat across to someone’s office like a child tip toeing game.  I can smell his cigarettes a mile away, and I have only been in this place four weeks.

“Get in here.”

Er, did I mention this guy was psychic?  This voice in my head was not my own, it had to be Izuchi.  It’s not like it was my dick calling me to jack off again, it was too early for that. I ran quickly down the hall realizing I was not going to be able to troll the crap out of the corridors easily.  I got in front of the door to Izuchi’s office and clamored up into a ball of nerves.  He could obviously read my mind, and he could obviously tell me that I was outside his door.

“Get in here.”

I told you he was psychic right.

“Get in here.”

Third time is a charm, and I slowly open the door and realize it’s like a colorful acid trip from a rap video.  Here Izuchi is hanging upside down in his office from what looked like shiny and silky twine.  Creeped out to the max by now, I blinked – realizing even more so what sort of shit I was in for.  Psychic, and also a trolling and rolling spider down from the ceiling – I have a feeling I am in some strange horror side B movie at the old Plaza 3000 theatre.   He climbed down the silken rope and slid onto his chair by the desk.

“Well, sit down.”  This time he spoke, you know tried to save that mental energy speaking aloud instead of in my head.  So yea, I sat down of course – I’m looking at this guy like I’m seeing Mahatma Gandhi, maybe I’m putting him on a pedestal for this reason I don’t know.  But I believe I’m in front of something I should’ve paid a bit more respect to, at least until I took a closer look into his eyes.

“Justin, is it?”  Izuchi’s face was hiding a smirk, as he hid behind the computer monitor on his desk.  There was something very odd about this situation – and I'm already becoming uneasy.  He turned around to face me and seared the vision of that smirk right in the back of my brain.  He was no angel, and yet he wasn’t a devil in disguise – so what is it about him that makes him so fucking holy?

“Yea, Uhm, what am I here for again? I mean, in this office… am I in trouble?”  I clamored up again, my knuckles felt like ice.  I’m screwing shit up because I’m sick and tired of living, but there are obviously people here who see my right to live still.  Problem is, I ignore it all the time – I’d rather screw things up and die a moron then live a hero.

“Well not really, but I hear you’ve been trying to break my records for self-abusive drinking rages in a bathroom with drugs.”  Izuchi grinned at me; evidently being a former rock star means you one up all your students 20 years before they’re even born.   I stopped worrying about the weird feelings this guy gave off – thinking it was just because he did his time as a guitar wrecking jackass.   Maybe it was just a fluke – but somehow I had a dream of him flipping his lid later on in the railroad tracks.

I coughed; I didn’t even think he’d figure that out.

“Look, we do have strict rules on that – I don’t need you falling off the balcony just because Lily’s pissing you off.  Basically keep your habits to a dull roar- drinking’s one thing, weed’s not legal but hey if you’re not having paranoid delusions that someone stole your cheerios I could give a fuck.  Just don’t do it every day, and end up a stinking mess of barf and masturbation.  But that’s not why I called you down here.”  He smiled at me, and showed me a folder full of various amounts information about Lily and I.