The world is dressed in a midnight coat of madness
Heads and limbs are suffering
Lemon drops make good eyes
To see the world with a yellow burn
Nothing the man on the 13th floor does makes any sense
He researches schizophrenia and the country Azerbaijan
On his Apple computer from Target
Those haters of basic human rights
“Scum bags!” he yells out.
“But you bought a computer from them,” says his girlfriend, Pam.
He snarls at her. “If I need any cooking spray, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, shut up!”
“Eat a Pop Tart and die!” she snaps back.
They both sigh.
“We have very bad personal problems,” Pam says. “Have you given anymore thought about counseling?”
“I’m not telling some stranger all my troubles,” he replies.
“Bert. You can’t keep running away from this. We need help if we are ever going to make it together.”
Bert mumbles something inaudible and gets up and goes for his coat near the front door of the flat.
“Where are you going?” Pam asks.
“I’m going for a walk.”
“But it’s freezing outside.”
“Would you stop nagging me for one second.”
“Fine! Go out there and die in the cold. Problem solved.”
Bert trudged through the snow and bitter air until he came to the gray harbor. He looked out into the partially frozen water and thought about jumping in.
“Nobody would care if I wasn’t here anymore,” he mumbled aloud. “No one would even notice… Just a few moments of discomfort, and then black sleep forevermore.”
It was then that a glowing white figure rose up out of the water and hovered above him.
“Bert,” the whimsical voice said. “You’re right. No one will care if you die. They have their own worries and troubles and lives to lead. You don’t matter to anyone. Perhaps someone will miss you, but they will forget all about you soon enough.”
“Wow. What horrible things to say to someone who’s already downcast,” Bert replied.
“I’m just being truthful, Bert… Go ahead. Jump into the deadly waters and then follow me to the afterlife. Come along now. Don’t dawdle.”
Bert retrieved a cigarette and lighter from his coat pocket and began to smoke. “Now hold on a minute. Don’t rush me. Damn it! I hate when people rush me. This is a big decision. I need some time to think about it.”
The glowing white figure sighed impatiently. “Fine. Meet me back here in one hour.”
Bert decided to go to the pub and get rip-roaring drunk.
“I want to get pissed and forget about my life,” Bert told the bartender.
“Do you have any money?”
“Damn it! Why does everything always have to involve money? Just give a man some drinks why don’t you!”
The bartender got a mean face and leaned closer to Bert. “Not unless you pay for it.”
“Always paying for something,” Bert grumbled as he retrieved his wallet and threw down some cash. “There. Start pouring.”
Bert was wobbly while playing darts. One silver-tipped winged buzz-fly went wayward and hit a man named Bigfellow in the neck.
“What the flying flim-flam!” Bigfellow cried out. “Who the hell threw that!?”
“Why don’t you get the hell out of the way!” Bert yelled. “Next time you’re liable to get one in the eye.”
Bigfellow, with one hand over the spot on his neck where the dart hit and the other making a pointing finger directed at Bert, said, “I’m going to kick your arse, wee man.”
And that’s when the fight broke out and Bert was pummeled to oblivion and left lying in the corner of the bar all twisted up and groaning.
“Go on, you bastard,” Bert sputtered. “Finish me off. I don’t want to live in this stinkin’ world anyway.”
Bigfellow stood over him like a thick tree. He pressed a shoe down against Bert’s chest and moved his sweaty face toward him. “Oh. And what’s so stinkin’ about it?” he asked.
“It’s a stinkin’ world because it lets the young get onto the old like you’ve done. It’s a stinkin’ world because there’s no law and order anymore. Men flying around the moon, and there’s not attention paid to earthly law and order…” Bert paused for a moment. “Wait. Are we doing a scene from A Clockwork Orange?”
Bigfellow grinned menacingly. “Welly, welly well. I suppose if we were, I’d laugh out loud right about now and then violently beat you with my walking stick.”
And that’s when Bigfellow reached behind him without looking and grabbed a wooden and polished walking stick from another dimension of thin air. He rose up, cocked the stick back, and brought it down on Bert forcefully and repeatedly, the whole time hollering with some fit of outlandish rage.
Pam was sitting on the couch licking a frying pan when Bert came crashing through the front door of the flat they shared.
“Bert!” she yelled out. “What the hell happened to you?” She set the frying pan aside and went to him. “Oh darling, you seem to be seriously injured. Shall I call an ambulance?”
He looked at her with a dazed expression. “Eggiweg. I want to take them, and I want to smash them!”
“Bert. You’re not making any sense,” Pam said. She went to retrieve her phone and immediately dialed 911.
It smelled like a hospital and that’s where he was. Pam was down the hall talking to a doctor. Bert’s head turned toward the set of windows in his room, and it was all black except for the reflection of him lying there in that hospital bed, and the way it was made him look like he was just floating out in space. And that’s where he really wanted to be. To be excised of earthly life and untethered from the binds of living in a cold, cruel world.
The phone beside his bed rang and he picked it up. “Hello.”
“You never returned to the waterfront to meet your end,” said the voice Bert immediately recognized for it was the voice of the glowing white figure that had rose up from the icy depths of the harbor waters earlier in the day. “I hope you are not trying to hide from me.”
“I am not hiding. I had a bit of an accident at the pub.”
“Yes. I know. You let that Bigfellow get the best of you.”
“He was much bigger than me, and powerful like an ox.”
“Nevertheless, you were defeated in life once again.”
“Seems I never win at anything.”
“That’s because you are a born loser… Goodbye now. I don’t have any more time to waste on you.”
It was then that Pam came back into the room and with her was a man in a white lab coat and with a stethoscope strung about his neck.
“Hi, hi, hi there,” she said. “This is Dr. Chad Everett, and I wanted you to know that we are in love and that I am breaking up with you because, yes, you are a loser. Just like that ghost man says you are.”
Bert clenched his eyes shut tightly. He couldn’t stand to see it. Her there with some perfect, rich man. “Fine, Pam!” he blurted out. His eyes popped open and were full of hate and rage. “Go on. Fulfill your life as a mega bitch. I don’t want to be around you anyways. Just get out of here and go spray some pans.”
It was a few months later when Bert and Pam ran into each other at the park. “I’m Pam Everett now,” she said. She held out her hand to show off her ring. “Just look at the size of that diamond,” she said. “You would have never been able to afford something like this. I guess you could say I really moved up in the world. What have you been doing lately?”
“I’ve decided not to off myself and just see what happens in my life. No plans. No expectations. No dreams. Just wake up and go.”
“Hmmm, sounds about right. No ambition.”
“Sure. Think what you want. You have no power over me anymore. I’m a free man.”
“Well… Fine. I’m going to live my fabulous life while you flounder through yours. Bye now.”
And it was then that Bert pulled out the gun and aimed it at her back as she walked away. His finger trembled at the trigger, but at the last second before firing, he lowered the gun and put it away safely.
“No…” he muttered to himself. “I’m not going to ruin the rest of my awful life.”
CEREAL AFTER SEX 