Hell on Earth

Chapter One - Grape Cool-Aid

Jessica’s real face, for instance, was covered with all of her sins. They looked like scars, but I could read them. It seemed like her entire face was about to fall off, attached by a few pieces of rotten flesh. Her mouth was hanging open in a gaping grin and her sinister eyes were shriveled and dark. Maggots clawed around in open wounds in her face, nibbling here and there like they had a free, five-star meal.

Gag-worthy, yes? Welcome to my schizophrenia.

I glanced around the store, taking in the tinkling music and bright, florescent lights. People swarmed everywhere, bodies swerving and swiveling past each other, barely minding everyone they saw. They didn’t see their pasts and misdeeds on their faces like brands. They didn’t see the rotting corpses under the skin. They saw people – they saw nothing but regularity and normal, everyday life.

They saw nothing of my world: a world I walked alone.

Weird, I thought he said the anti-depressants should be stronger. Not to mention the anti-psychotics.

I watched the world pass me by, seeing me as just another person. I wished, more than anything, I could be just like them and not have to live alone.

I watched Jessica. She glanced over at me flirtatiously, smiling up at me through her eyelashes. I saw, clear as day, what she was thinking.

Everyone else saw it as flirtation. I saw that she wanted a guy in her life who would actually love and care about her. She was desperately lonely and hurting. Her father had left her and her family when she was young, so she had a few daddy issues. She had OCD and loved everything to be perfect – a big reason she thrived working here. She was hoping that she could find a guy who was different, who was better, who cared about her as much as she cared about them. She never could express herself, though. She’d bring home a guy, have some wild sex, and they’d quickly break up because she didn’t have the courage to bring it to the next level.

I sighed, looking back down to my work, not wanting to see the disappointment on her face. I’m not that guy, Jessica.

The sound of the city swelled around me, like a river of pure noise. Not to mention people did too – swell around me, I mean. I kept my head down and my hands in my jacket pockets, not wanting to read any more faces. The chilly, late-autumn air cut through me like a white-hot knife, and I dug my hands into my pockets that much deeper. I hate winter.

More people on average commit suicide on a Wednesday in December or January than any other day or time. I guess it’s the alone feeling. I wouldn’t know. I’m always alone…even though, sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it.

Schizophrenia, remember? Makes you see things that aren’t there, sometimes people. The visions I have fall under that explanation too. Visions, suppressed memories, all that jazz.

I plugged my headphones into my ears, numbly turning the music up. It seemed to ward off the chill, even though the lyrics cut straight to my soul. Simon and Garfunkel, why must you have a song that fits my situation? “I am a rock, I am an island!” Fuck that. If I’m an island, then I must be Hawaii because I’m…shit. Sinking. I think Hawaii is sinking.

I clicked the fast forward button, moving on to the next song. Some sort of screamo, head-bangy music blasted to my eardrums and I set my feet quickly to the tempo.

Home was kind of a nice word for it. “Obviously lived-in space” was better.

There were boxes everywhere, mostly with things still in them.

It felt good to move out of Dad’s. It felt better to be out here.

I took my prescription medication for that time and sat down in front of the TV, watching football and trying my best to ignore the true nature behind the player’s faces. No one would believe me when I said that most of those guys were thugs and, when I was right, they assumed I had something to do with it. I just kept my mouth shut. “Watch your tongue, I’ll have it cut from your mouth.”