The River

Thank you to my mother, Mary Ebel, who encourages me endlessly, and was invaluable in helping me edit this story.

You can kill ‘em,

with kindness,

You can kill ‘em,

with pity,

or…

You can kill ‘em

A child’s scream cut across the cabin. Herc shot to consciousness abruptly, but he hadn’t been asleep. It was only when he returned to a state of full awareness that he realized how long he had been in the twilight zone of an insomniac trance. The splitting headache persisted. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to provide some relief while looking at his watch in the darkness. The watch hands, which were normally illuminated by phosphorescent paint, were now barely visible; as if it hadn’t been recharged by the sun’s rays in a long time. The small droplets of water beneath the cracked watch face further obscured the display of time. The GPS tracker flickered uselessly when he pressed on the screen.

Herc rubbed his eyes before quickly looking about the cabin in an attempt to get his bearings straight. The cabin was dreary and grey as if the clouds that the plane was swimming through were seeping in. The sickly sweet scent of recycled air whirling on his face was drying out his contacts and causing him to feel nauseous. The ashen seats barely stood out against the insipid walls. It was quiet and lifeless save for the lone child’s wail. 

The tattered seat, which was pressed firmly against his knees, caused a slowdown in his circulation. He desperately wanted to splay his long legs out in the aisle, but he had been bumped sharply by the flight attendant with the drink cart when he did. 

Herc became entranced by the carpeting in the center aisle which ran from north to south through the plane. The background of the carpeting was the same shade of the burnt orange that colored the coastline of his hometown during sunset. However, it was not the hue of the carpet which commanded his attention, but rather the black, spiraling fractal pattern which was laid on top. The pattern began on the eastern side of the aisle and travelled clockwise. The outer edge of the spiral briefly kissed the west side of the aisle before returning to the east. It continued it’s tightly descending spiral until it became a fine point in the dead center of the aisle. Herc fell into his thoughts as he did often. 

Does the spiral end at this fine point, or does it continue infinitely beyond my perception?

The sharp points of scarlet stilettos broke into frame, and snapped Herc out of his daze.

“Can I get you something?” the attendant sighed. 

“Do you have the time?”

The preoccupied flight attendant stared ahead with a dead look as if she had ignored his query. After a few moments of strained silence, she repeated her question.

“Sir, can I get you something?

“Double vodka,” he said.

“Twenty dollars,” she said plainly.

If this purchase had been a choice then he would have been livid at the price. He took one large gulp of the vodka, and felt the satisfyingly acrid liquid spill down his throat. He recalled the sensation of disgust he felt as a child when he had accidentally drunk vodka mistaking it for water. This sensation had long been replaced with one of serenity. Or rather, the one sensation had consumed the other.

He couldn’t tell if the droning hum which permeated the cabin was coming from the plane or his own head. The headache had somewhat dulled with the application of the vodka. He looked enviously at the fat man who was spilling into the window seat next to him. His head was pressed up against the cool window as he slept with a childlike calm. 

It must be easy to sleep when you just don’t give a fuck. I mean look at this slob. He couldn’t take care of himself on the outside so God only knows how shambling he is on the inside. 

The fat man’s head sunk further into his neck as the plane shifted gently.

Herc took another sip of his vodka while he thought of his return home. He had been away for eight months, but it seemed like a lifetime. A lifetime of true freedom. A lifetime that was coming to an end. He felt as if he was returning home to his own funeral. This trip was an excuse he had used to put off making a definitive decision as to where his life would go from here.

The pestering questions were incessant.

“Where are you planning on going? What will you do?! Where will you go? What adventure are you most excited for? Aren’t you just SO excited?! Where will you go? What will you do when you get back!? Are you going to miss us?! Where will you go?! What will you bring back for me? Aren’t you going to miss your brother? How are you going to get there? What are you going to see? WHERE WILL YOU GO?!”

A large vein in his head pulsed ferociously. A schism was erupting through his skull. He felt as if his head was splitting open threatening to spill his black, bubbling brain into the aisle.

Truthfully, he hadn’t spent much time thinking at all during his trip. The relentless pace of life that had prodded him during his summer internship continued to prod him while he drank Prosecco on Italian verandas. The Prosecco simply mitigated the agony of expectant eyes on him. The anxiety ridden tightness never left him. This was especially true when he was talking to Paul, his father’s closest associate. Paul, or “Pluto” as he was often referred to by Herc’s father, was the district attorney who reigned over the sleepy southern town where Herc grew up.

“You know, when your father and I took our European trip — Oh shit when was that again? 81’ or 82’?– Anyway, in 78’, I’m not sure how it is now, but in 78’, you had to basically beat those French girls off with a stick! hAAhAAhAA-haa-aaa, Chester, grab little Herc and I another nip of that ole pappy. Won’t you, boy? Oh yea, let me tell you, Herc, your father and I were up to our necks in French girls like you wouldn’t believe! It was just like…”

There was never any question that Herc would take up his father’s mantle. It had been assumed from his birth. The carousel of private schools, selective nannies and exclusive internships had ensured he would never be alone to make his own decisions. His future was determined.

A child’s plaintive wail erupted in the cabin once more. 

Could they not get someone, anyone, to shut that baby up?! Can’t those people take care of their shit? Why even have a child if you’re unfit to be a parent?

The plane began it’s ascent to a higher altitude. The cabin tilted drastically which forced the stewardess to drag the drink cart as if she were navigating her way upstream a river. After she passed, Herc extended his leg into the aisle. A loud pop and a jolt of pain shot through his left knee as he stretched.

Herc noticed an old woman sitting across the aisle from him. She seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. She was covered in a shawl, and had the complexion of freshly turned over earth. Her face seemed to erupt in a scarred landscape of cracks and crevices when she smiled. Her skin told the story of her life, and every wrinkle was a chapter.

“Hard to get comfy, huh?” She asked.

“You have no idea…” He responded.

“When I first started flying, it was a luxury. Everyone wore their Sunday best, and were given first class service throughout the cabin!” The woman cheerfully croaked, “They can figure out the miracle of human flight, but they can’t figure out the miracle of not overbooking the plane!”

“Well, I’m sure there is some reason for it,” Herc said. He pulled out his phone in an attempt to signal to the woman that he did not want to speak with her. However, the woman ignored this signal and continued.

“Of course there are no miracles on this plane today. No man has ever caused a miracle. I think the right word for their behavior would be… malicious. They know what they’re doing, but don’t care,” the woman retorted.

Herc’s ears perked up. There was blood in the water.

“Oh please, without these airlines and the people who own them you couldn’t go see your… whoever you’re visiting. Father actually golfs with the man who is responsible for the miracle of flight that we’re currently enjoying. Have you ever met a man with, not one, but two masterpieces by Francisco Goya? Of course not. Most people haven’t. Those who keep the trains, airlines and waterways moving exist above all the… well, frankly, the others. The people who do not know what it takes to make true sacrifices. Sacrifices made for the good of society. Sure, there may be unintended consequences of their policies. However, I can guarantee it is the best way to operate,” Herc said.

The silence which followed seemed to last an eternity. It was longer than a pregnant pause. It was dead air.

“Best for whom?” the woman asked.

Before he could respond, the plane shook due to light turbulence. A child’s scream cut across the cabin. 

God damn that fucking baby! And this fucking woman! Ugh, the elderly are always trying to shove their platitudes down your throat. Although, I guess it is my fault… When will I learn that normal folk will never be capable of understanding what it takes to be a hero. 

“Where are ya flying to?” the woman asked earnestly, ignoring his desire to sleep. His head began to pulse once more causing him to wince.

“Uh, home,” he responded distantly as he felt the rippling pain across his skull again. 

“Oh, that is lovely. Were you in Amsterdam for a holiday?”

The pain subsided somewhat as he downed his drink.

“Kinda,” he burped before continuing, “I just finished college. Figured I would go see some of the world before I started work.”

“Do you have a job lined up? I know this time in your life can be very difficult to get started!”

“Sort of… I guess. I’m going to take a job with my father’s company. He is an arms dealer for the government.”

“A what?”

“Well, he insists that he operates a business which provides ‘crucial resources to aid in the defense of the United States from foreign and domestic threats’. But I know that’s bullshit. ”

“Oh, uh… how exciting!”

There was a pause as he looked up and down the aisle in a desperate attempt to get another drink.

“It is really wonderful to have time off from work at your age. The rest of your life is going to be spent in the same place. You might as well enjoy your remaining time!” the woman advised.

He smiled as if it had been the first time he had heard that specific piece of advice, and thanked her dryly. 

“So, what did you do for work?” he asked.

“Do. What I do for work,” she said in a suddenly matronly tone. 

“Ok, what do you do?”

“I’m a mother!” she exclaimed.

He had to resist the urge to laugh at this woman. 

Women always insist that raising children is the most important job in the world. At least my own mother had enough common sense to delegate that responsibility to an expert… As if the girls who lived in my own town were given accreditation to let a child fall out of their womb, and perpetuate the misery of their deficient family. Imagine! Telling the story of your family’s pedigree, and the impetus of that story is some mouth-breather gas station attendant that didn’t wrap up his rotten pecker! What noble beginnings!

“Well, we all needed one of those at some point,” he muttered blithely.

The woman shrunk into her seat and furrowed her brow at him.

“Although, I think we can both agree, children should be treated like guns. You can own it, but we’ll throw you in jail if you bring it on a plane,” he quipped.

“Hehehe –” the woman chuckled before cutting herself off with a rattling cough. When she recomposed herself, she said, “You know dear, you shouldn’t be so hard on the poor babe. Everyone has to go through this difficult period.”

“A difficult period? You call having your ass wiped and every need catered to a ‘difficult period’? Oh, what a horrible experience. I’ll sign up right now!”

“No, I meant the adjustment after being born. I don’t know if you have ever been around a woman giving birth, but it can be quite traumatic for the mother and the babe.”

“No! I certainly haven’t been around any pregnant women!” he snapped, “The only time I’ve been in a birthing room was when I was born. As you can imagine, it was quite the event.”

“Are you saying you remember your birth?” the woman asked.

“No, but my father said –”

“I’m sure there is a great story about your birth, but that is only a myth.”

“Hahaha, oh really? A myth? My birth is a myth? Hahah, oh jeez, please forgive me, that is just so silly.”

“What would you call it?”

“The objective truth? Reality? You can call it bumblefuck for all I care, but it surely isn’t a myth.”

“But you don’t remember it?”

“I know the facts, okay? It isn’t about what you remember, it is what you know. My father told me the story, and I’ve heard it every fucking Christmas from my aunts and uncles. I know that my collarbone was broken when I was delivered. My mother wouldn’t allow the nurses to touch me. I still have the scars. So yea, I’m sure it isn’t a myth.”

“You don’t think that, over the years, your family may have forgotten some of the details?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“How many details can you change before it isn’t true?”

Herc’s face flushed red as he became increasingly frustrated.

“Five! Five fucking details! What kind of question is that? Do you remember your birth? Huh? You got a snappy answer for that, Descartes?”

“Oh, I’m not sure. I only know that we are defined by our memory, and there are only two days which you are guaranteed to not remember. One of them is your birthday.” 

“And the second?” Herc asked.

“The day of your death.” 

Herc let out an exasperated sigh and threw his hands up.

“Alright, well, as much fun as it has been talking to you about esoteric nonsense, I’m afraid I am going to have to try and get some sleep,” Herc lied. He was not sleepy, but he was growing tired of the conversation.

“You know, you really should enjoy this time off!” she repeated.

“Oh, yes ma’am. I’ll be very much enjoying it soon,” he said. A crooked smirk grew across his face as he closed his eyes. This woman’s pithy remark lit his brain up with excitement as he remembered that there were thirty grams of magic truffles waiting for him in his carry on. It seemed asinine to be smuggling a legally obtained item; seeing that he never concerned himself much with the law when it came to his personal matters.

“Pluto, Pluto, Pluto I don’t give a damn about what the statutes dictate for a normal situation like this. The Suez family does not entertain the idea of having a convict in our midst. Are you aware of how much time my father spent bootstrapping, doing what he had to do, to get to where we are now? Damn what the law has to say! My ancestors did not endow us with this life for it to be ruined by some little bitch! Do you know the difficult decisions my family has had to make over the years? Do you know what it takes to be a titan of industry? Of course not. You are no son of a titan. No, you are just a dipfuck district attorney who needed me to use MY influence to get YOU through law school! Now I ask you to make one small mistake go away, and you spite me? Do you not think little Herc deserves a second chance? Would you not grant my own son that kindness? Of course you wouldn’t… without my help. That’s why I’m going to do you a favor and make the decision for you. You can thank me later…”

The child’s wail pierced his ears once more which made his head throb. His vision was dim and blurry as his eyes cracked open ever so slightly to see if the woman was waiting to ambush him with conversation. However, the only thing waiting for Herc was her empty, gray seat. 

It was night time. Or at least Herc guessed it was night. The only connections to time he had left were the cabin lights which had dimmed as the plane flew over Earth’s horizon, and into the darkness of night.

It can’t be long now. I need to get off this fucking plane. And away from this crazy old coot… Although, she was right about one thing; I need to savor this expedition as much as time will permit. I need to wring out the last bit of hedonistic pleasure my brain will allow before returning home to the drudgery of everyday life. I need to get off this fucking plane first. It can’t be long now.

---

Herc felt a wave of relief wash over him as the plane finally began its descent. An hour prior, he had retrieved his carry-on luggage from the locker above because he was not willing to spend a single second on the plane longer than necessary. His fingers impatiently stroked the cracked crystal face of his watch. 

There is no God damn way this flight was twelve hours! This fucking watch… How did I break it again? I gotta lay off these damn drugs… No, I just need to get off this fucking plane already! I have no idea why people can NOT do their jobs correctly. Am I the only responsible person in the world? If people could just think about others for a change then most of the world’s problems would go away. You simply can not pay people enough to sincerely give a fuck, God da-

His thought was cut off as the intercom pumped incomprehensible nonsense into the cabin. People started to move. He shot up and forcefully elbowed his way up to the front of the cabin. Headphones were jammed into his ears, but they played no music.

“We are so sorry for the delay. Please have a wonderful trip. We hope to see you very soon!” The flight attendant requested as she stared at Herc.

Herc pretended he could not hear her as he pushed past without a sound. His footsteps clicked and echoed through the tunnel connecting the plane to the airport until he reached the marbled floors of the customs checkpoint.

After, what Herc considered to be, an ungodly amount of time spent going through customs, his bag was retrieved. He anxiously made a beeline for the closest bar.

Light cascaded through the skylights, and showered the airport in a soft, dreamy glow. The chattering of foreign tongues and tearful goodbyes blended with the banality of the airports intercom to create a disorientingly discordant soundscape. Similarly, the scent of cinnabon, adventure, and fear caused him to feel nauseous.

Herc threw his massive backpack next to an empty chair before nearly collapsing onto the bar.The stunningly beautiful bartender greeted him with a smile.

“Long trip?” she asked.

“You have no idea. It felt like forever,” he sighed.

He ordered the beer with the highest alcohol content, and settled into the hard backed chair. His knee made a loud clicking in the process. In one large gulp, he downed a quarter of the beer. This was followed by steady, intermittent sips. He turned in his chair to face the main thoroughfare of the airport. The exotic cavalcade of travelers that passed by made his mind turn.

They look so concerned, completely oblivious to my presence. Others were so egotistical in that way. Whenever those people get stressed they can only think of themselves. If only they knew how silly they looked! As if they were ants fleeing their home from an incoming rush of water. Over what? Run, run, run…

His attention became focused on two peculiarly handsome looking young people. They stood on opposite ends of the two parallel moving walkways which ran through the dead center of the terminal. He sensed they were on a collision course. One of the walkways perpetually moved north while the other moved south. The dull hum of the motorized walkway mixed with the background noise as the two gently floated towards each other. Their movement was as slow and measured as a tranquil river.

The man was wearing a steely blue, silk sport coat with a pristinely white Brooks Brothers shirt underneath. The shirt had two buttons loose, and a light brown belt rested on his hips. The slacks he wore were without wrinkle, stain or crease. The cuffs of his impeccable pants hovered above a pair of light brown loafers. A neatly folded, baby-blue handkerchief poked out from his breast pocket.

The woman wore a tight, ripped, black t-shirt which read “DEATH GRIPS” on the front. The tip of a cigarette, which was snugly tucked behind her pierced ear, stuck out from within the dense, silky forest of her faded pink hair. A large, black tattoo of a macabre maccaw ran up the right side of her supple torso and ended on her neck. A glittering flash of light arced through the air as she reached her jeweled hand to her ear. She delicately pinched the cigarette between her dark blue, enamel coated fingernails as she brought it to her mouth. The crimson lipstick bled onto the butt of the cigarette as her lips firmly gripped it. The cigarette slackened as her piercing green eyes locked on to the man.

It looked as if her heart was suddenly gripped by an icy hand. A look of grave determination slowly solidified across her face. The piercings on her lip curled as she snarled viciously. The man momentarily glanced up from his phone towards the woman, and did a horrified double take.

The man’s face turned a pale, ghostly white as the woman picked up her pace. As she advanced, the woman spoke to the man in furiously rushed tones. His face turned a dark, furious shade of red. The man wrung his hands anxiously as his countenance of shame was revealed. They passed each other briefly before spinning around to face one another. They fought against the current of the motorized walkways that pulled them in opposite directions. They were held in a momentarily perfect stasis on the shifting landscape. 

Scalding, righteous anger fueled the woman as she whipped herself into indignancy. The words rushed out of her mouth in a storm of spittle and spite. She had rehearsed this conversation in her mind hundreds of times, yet performed completely off script. Passers by leered and joked at an inappropriate distance. The broken halves paid the onlookers no mind.

The man looked pitiful as the retribution continued. His shoulders slumped, and his head hung in deep remorse. The liar’s mouth repeatedly shot open only for nothing to be pushed out. It was like he was dry heaving. He had long failed to find the words that she wanted to hear. He knew they didn’t exist. As the condemnation continued, his silent protest was soon replaced by the much detested sobbing of a man in public. Tears rolled down his saturated cheeks, and were whisked away on the platform. His impotent rage boiled to a point where his weak constitution could no longer handle the emotions that were resurfacing. 

“I JUST CAN’T REMEMBER!” he screamed.

And that was it.

The woman began to speak, but cut herself off as if the words were stuck in her throat. She settled herself into a different sense of incompleteness than the one she had begun the conversation with. She drifted backwards and away from the man. He mustered a half-hearted attempt to chase her down. However, honesty finally took him over for the first time. He stopped resisting and allowed his inert body to be carried along the walkway. The two floated in opposite directions from one another as their distance irreparably increased.

After the altercation ended, Herc turned back in his chair, and squared himself with the bar and his beer. He stared at the beer lost in a distant thought. The tiny bubbles periodically unhinged themselves from the side of his glass and rose through his golden beer towards the surface.

I don’t have anything to be ashamed of. Maybe I’m just overly sensitive. Or maybe shame is contagious.

Herc needed a distraction from his pestering thoughts so he turned to the old man sitting beside him. 

“Hah, did you see that guy?” Herc said.

The old man was wearing a faded, baby-blue Cinnabon outfit which had a stale, sickly sweet scent of cinnamon and body odor. The dated eighties music leaking out of the man’s earbuds became louder as he removed them.

“Huh?” the man responded.

“Did you see that guy?” Herc repeated.

“Who?”

“That dude who just cried in a public airport!”

“Oh that’s too bad,” the Cinnabon Man said.

“It is a shame is what it is. He should’ve kept it to himself. Nobody wants to see a man cry.”

“You have nothing worth crying over?”

“No, I’m not fucked up! I deal with stuff like a man and just let it roll off. I don’t have time to waste crying,” Herc said. He felt a sharp pang of guilt in his gut. His ears felt hot as they turned a warm shade of red. They always did that when he told an especially egregious lie.

“I love crying. I try to as much as possible,” the man said gently.

Herc began to soften. The words cut through him.

“But it makes you feel… just… so… much! It’s overwhelming! The volume of emotion is just so painful! And there is so much worth crying over! How can you stand it? If I take the time to seriously ruminate over the massive sum of potential energy for tragedy in the universe, I would die! It’s agony! I see too much of the world for what it is, and I can’t handle it!” Herc exclaimed.

“Oh no, my son. One of the exquisite joys in life is crying. Every truly important thing in my life I’ve cried over. I cried the day my son was born. Have you ever felt a love that is so intense that your entire being is overwhelmed? A love that rewrote your entire purpose for existing?”

“I’ve felt love before! And you can bet your ass it was real! I didn’t cry though. It would have killed me. I didn’t cry when my piece of shit, crony grandfather died. I didn’t cry when my best friend was married. I choose not to. If I open that door, I will never be able to close it.”

“Well, crying isn’t always caused by the ‘big events’ in life. I was lucky enough to cry after watching 2001: A Space Odyssey! Upon viewing The Garden of Earthly Delights for the first time, I began to sob! After finishing The Sound and the Fury, I curled into a ball and wept.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through!”

“Maybe not everything, but certainly more than you’d like to think. I think you don’t want to accept the reality of your situation. Because, the truth is, crying makes you human. It’s your body being forced to vent an overwhelming poignancy. A poignancy that you were lucky enough to discover within your brief time living in a brutally indifferent universe. It is the peak of human passion. Without crying, our lives are just as insignificant as a speck of sand floating through the endless void of space. So, what are you? A living speck, or a dead one? 

Herc didn’t speak for several moments out of fear that his choked up voice would prove the man correct. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes to prevent the welling of tears. A pitiful pool of emotionality welled inside of him before being set ablaze by his own obstinance and ego.

“Fuck you, old man! I’ll show you living!” he shouted. Herc rose from his stool, and pounded the dregs of his beer before turning to the bartender who stared at him with a shocked look.

“Give me a shot of tequila,” he demanded ravenously.

The Cinnabon Man erupted in forceful sobbing. Herc stoically stared forward at the array of liquor bottles stacked behind the bar. He knew that if he looked at the sage old man, a levy would break inside of him, and he would join in the emotional outpouring. The Cinnabon Man shook his head while muttering to himself. 

“Look man, I’m sorry I just… I just can’t. I want to… I just can’t do it,” Herc pleaded as his voice cracked.

After several moments, the Cinnabon Man wiped away the tears from his red, swollen face. He composed himself before leaning over towards Herc.

“I feel your pain son,” the man whispered in his ear. He rose from his chair and shuffled back to Cinnabon with his head lowered.

Herc became incredulous. It was the only reaction he was capable of mustering in the face of genuine empathy. He took the shot alone.

I’ll fuckin show him living. Who has lived more? The fucker stuck in a Cinnabon his whole life is going to tell me about what makes someone human?? Oh no, the guy who has been to EUROPE doesn’t know SHIT about life apparently! Fuck him. I’m not perfect, but at least I’m not stuck in that cinnamon scented prison! He belongs to a whole class of people who live their lives in that prison because they are too dumb to get out of it themselves!

Herc felt emboldened by the tequila, and decided to go meet Chester who was hopefully waiting for him by the curb in front of the airport. Although, there was hardly any doubt in Herc’s mind that Chester would be there. In the thirty years that Chester Norchi had served Herc’s father, he had never been late for anything.

---

The scrutinizing sunlight bore down upon Herc as he emerged from the airport. There was an unusual sweetness to the air that captivated Herc. A mild breeze felt like silk as it glazed over his skin. Closing his eyes, Herc took a deep breath and reveled in the beauty of the real world. 

His peace was interrupted by a woman who roughly brushed past him. She was obviously in a great hurry, but was ladened down by the two children latched to her like leeches. One of the children seemed to be about five years old while the other was barely a newborn. As they passed, Herc heard the five year old ask her mother a silly, naive question about the absurd world with which she was becoming acquainted. However, the mother was far too preoccupied with the verklempt newborn which she was cradling on her shoulder. The newborn’s face was tangled and bunched into a red, snotty mess. 

As the pair walked off into the haze, the little girl’s unanswerable questions grew faint while the newborn’s wailing seemed to grow louder and more violent. The child pawed at the air, and bawled with all the intensity in its feeble body. Its eyes never moved off of Herc. He gave a polite, disingenuous smile and a small wave to the babe.

Good luck, it only gets worse from here.

Herc threw his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. Like a sailor searching for land across the hazy concrete sea, he spied the glint of his father’s freshly waxed black Mercedes.

As sure as death and taxes, Chester was waiting for Herc on the concrete sidewalk next to the pickup lane. An airport cop stood in front of the vehicle while angrily writing a ticket. Chester obediently ignored the officer until she thrust the paper towards him. Using a porcelain-white, gloved hand Chester calmly accepted the ticket from the woman. This was certainly one of the more non-plus events of Chester’s day. It had long been the policy of their family to not acknowledge the authority of the police. Several phone calls would erase the record of a ticket being written, and, if they wanted, the cop as well.

Herc smiled at the thought of his father setting into motion the events that would lead to the punishment of this officer. The officer didn’t know she was wasting her time, paper and patience by doing her job to a T. The rushed, frustrated strokes of her pen might as well have been signing her own death warrant. 

Oh the glorious, juicy irony.

Chester opened the door and greeted him. Herc towered over the gentle, hobbit-like man.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Chester said with a poised, posh accent.

“Change of plans, Chester. Unfortunately, I will need to commandeer my father’s car. I have a few female associates who live in the city and are dead set on helping me ease my way back into civilized society. They’re insisting that I spend several days with them to ensure I don’t experience any severe culture shock.”

“Vacation from your vacation, sir?”

“Hah! See, this is why I love you Chester. Despite your circumstance you really see the big picture in life: party, bullshit and repeat.”

“Sir, I must tell you –”

“Oh Chester, you always have something to tell me! Please make it quick. These are not women who like to be kept waiting. This is my health we are talking about!” Herc said. There was a tequila laced jocularity to his words.

“You’re beginning to sound like your father…” Chester muttered to himself.

“What’s that?”

“I said I must tell you something! And I’m afraid you should prepare yourself because it is quite terrible news.”

Herc snapped around to face Chester.

“Is mother alright? Did she have another paranoid episode?”

“Your mother is fine, relatively speaking. She is anxiously awaiting your arrival. In fact, she hasn’t been quite the same since you left. I’m sure seeing her only son will fill her with her usual vivacity.”

“The line between vivacity and mania is a thin one. But nevermind that, tell me the damn news already! You know I hate to be left in suspense like this!”

“It is the Riverhouse… Well sir, your father has decided to sell it.”

“Bastard… Why is he doing this? I mean, I know why, but why did he say?”

“Son, you’re asking me to–”

“What did he fucking say!?”

“Okay okay… I’m paraphrasing, but it seemed that he was perturbed by your lack of enthusiasm for the family business. He seems to think that this will motivate you to take a more active role in–”

“What will they do with it?”

“It has been sold to a young family who intend to build a home from scratch.”

“Of course they’re going to destroy the Riverhouse. The only person who ever cared for that crumbling carcass is standing in front of you. Have they cleaned it out yet? I have some sentimental items that I need from there.”

“Umm…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake what now?”

“One of the stipulations of the sale was that the house is sold as it currently exists; rotting furniture and all. The sale is finalized in forty-eight hours, and the demolition begins in forty-nine. I’m very sorry, son…”
“He really wanted to wipe that place off the face of the Earth before I got home, huh? Well, fuck him. I’m not going to let him erase my past without doing something about it. I have to go there immediately so why not make a day out of it? I’ve come to the conclusion very recently that I need to enjoy every last second of my vacation before father chains me to a desk for the rest of my life. What could be more enjoyable than doing my favorite thing at my favorite place?”

Chester felt dread envelope him.

“Herc, I have fished you out of enough degenerate pits to know where your mind is headed. Please, do not go there.”

 “I just feel like I just need a couple glorious days which, compared to the months I’ve had galavanting in Europe, will feel like mere moments. Although, I suppose time is the sweetest when you’re truly at home,” Herc thought out loud. He put his bags into the trunk of the car nonchalantly.

“Herc, no–”

“Now who is beginning to sound like father?”

Chester grabbed Herc by the shirt and pulled him in closely.

“Herc, I’m serious. I know that the Riverhouse is the most sacred place in the world to you. I know it feels like your sanctuary is being stolen from you, but please, you can’t go there. You’re not safe when you’re alone like this. Do you not remember what almost happened after the incident?”

“I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about,” Herc said while avoiding eye contact with Chester.

“I know you better than anyone in the world, and I can tell you that no good will come from you going there.”

“Chester, you’re being dramatic. I am my own man and I am making my own decisions now.”

“I’m sorry son, I can’t give you the keys. Please just come home. Your mother wants to see you! You can grieve properly! You can talk to your father! Please just don’t go! It is not safe!” Chester pleaded desperately.

“Oh Chester, please don’t be emotional. If it means that much to you, I won’t go. Okay? Now, come here you old sad sack,” Herc said as he opened his arms in embrace. 

Chester’s head pressed against Herc’s chest. Chester thought of how it seemed not long ago that Herc’s crooked newborn head was nuzzled against his own chest. He would never forget the contented expression on the innocent cherub’s rosey face. A face which was unmarred by the sin of his upbringing.

Herc hunched over and whispered in Chester’s ear, “Want to see something I learned in Naples?”

They disconnected, and Herc walked towards the car. He raised both hands and faced his empty palms towards Chester.

“Firstly, you must take exactly seven steps backwards okay? On second thought, you’re kind of a short fellow so maybe nine steps… Okay perfect! Now watch both hands very carefully,” Herc said slyly.

He balled both of his hands into fists and put them behind his back.

“Pick a hand.”

“Pick it for what?”

“Chester, you already know magicians are inscrutable.”

“You’re not a magician.”

“And you’re no fun.”

“Left hand.”

Herc opened his palm revealing nothing.

“Sorry, you lose,” Herc said, spinning the keys to the car on his right hand.

Chester frantically pawed at his own empty pockets. The elation he felt drained from his body, and was promptly refilled with dread.

“Herc NO!” Chester screamed. He ran towards Herc, but it was too late. He was gone.

---

The tires screeched as Herc zipped the Mercedes down the thoroughfare with violent intent. His head swiveled as he glanced rapidly back and forth between the road and his scrappy, canvas knapsack. His loyal companion had an incredible history of carrying drugs on behalf of Herc. So much so that he loved it like a brother.

Herc fumbled through it attempting to find the necessary requirements for a road trip. First, he found his dark sunglasses with extra tinted lenses. The second requisite for a proper road trip was to bomb ten, fifteen-milligram gummy bear edibles. This would be enough to sustain his buzz over the course of his lengthy drive to the Riverhouse without fully debilitating him. His tolerance to THC was so high that stopping every thirty minutes to take a smoke break was simply inconceivable. The gummies would properly take the edge off. Finally, he turned his moderately focused attention to the road. 

He was driving through the sparse, pauperized landscape when a thought rushed into his head. A mixture of acute worry and thorough exiliaration blended inside of his gut. Quickly, he scrutinized the car’s mirrors before becoming sufficiently satisfied that there were no police in the general vicinity. Reaching behind the passenger’s seat, he pawed in search of a secret zipper. There was the satisfying crinkle of plastic as he grabbed hold of the vacuum-sealed ounce of weed which was stashed there. 

Whew, that would have been horrible if the police had found this when Chester was driving. Father would have let Chester serve a year or two to teach me a lesson. That bastard always abused those close to me as a surrogate for my punishment. I will never see the inside of a jail cell because father could never allow such an ‘ignominious disgrace’ to taint his bloodline. Chester would have to take the fall. He’s too good to our family. He’s too good for the world.

Herc placed the package back in its hidden pocket before carefully zipping up the leather seam. The flap was folded to its original place which obfuscated the view of the zipper to onlookers. 

He looked up just in time to see the flashing brake lights of a pickup truck through his intoxicated eyes. Immediately, he slammed on the brakes, and was lifted out of his seat several inches. Within milliseconds, the car’s electronic sensors triggered the seatbelt which then strapped his body to the seat firmly. The tires of the car peeled out causing the smell of burned rubber and fresh asphalt to waft through his open window. He turned the wheel in what seemed to be a futile attempt to prevent a collision with the truck in front of him. Luckily, the car stopped inches before impact.

“FUCK YOU!” he yelped to no one in particular. The combination of adrenaline and cortisol tightened his vocal cords and raised his voice. He coughed and took a sip of his water bottle. 

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, it’s okay it’s okay, it’s okay it’s okay — everything is okay.  If I had died would it be because I had to check for the weed? Was my fate sealed minutes ago? Or would it have been sealed months ago when I stashed it there? Would I have unknowingly set in motion the events that actualized my own death then and there? To think, my future was almost sealed with the calm, measured movement of a zipper.   

While the car was stopped, he shakily checked the notifications on his phone. 

2 New Messages from Mom and Dad

His thumb hovered over the message from his mother before he decided to click the message from his father. 

“You’d better get your ass back here, boy. I’m tired of having to treat you like a child. You have two days before I report the car stolen.”

He angrily deleted the message before locking his phone, and throwing it carelessly into the front seat.

As he drove, the sun retreated behind the treeline. It looked as if the sun was hiding itself among its elemental cousin. The sunlight which bled through the trees and into the car created a disorienting strobe effect. The light caused his head to pulse and throb maddeningly. While keeping both hands on the wheel, he glanced at the corner of the car’s digital interface in search of the time. He spent several moments scrutinizing the screen, but was unable to find the time on the complicated display. He considered his recent brush with death, and decided that he had tested fate enough for one day. His attention was focused back on the road, and he soon stopped caring about what time it was.

The labyrinth of the interstate gradually turned into back roads. The highway signs shifted from broader advertising into more regionalized and specific signs. Billboards for real estate websites, nation-wide fast food chains, and soda gradually transitioned into advertisements for quitting opiates, going to community college and preventing abortion.

“JESUS IS THE TRUTH,” one sign read.

“FORGIVE MY SINS JESUS, SAVE MY SOUL,” it begged.

“YES, IT’S A BABY,” it proclaimed pedantically. The white text was laid on top of an ultrasound photograph of a fetus.

Gradually, the billboards melted away, and were replaced by a starkly different backdrop; the backwoods of South Carolina. In their place, centuries old, gnarled oak trees popped up, and twisted their tendrils over and under the road. It was as if he was driving through a tunnel towards an inky black bottomless pit. 

Periodically littered along the road were brief alcoves in the dense wall of forestry. Sheltered within these areas were the rusting homes of the native residents. The houses were perched precariously on stilts about fifteen feet from the ground. They loomed over the landscape among the trees as if they were giant insectoid monsters from another planet. 

The stilted homes are a necessity of life because the residents live in tandem with the flooding and falling of the Edisto river. The natives use small boats to navigate around their property during particularly deadly floods. It is not unusual for the waters of the Edisto to rise and threaten to creep into the unsuspecting domiciles. 

Herc yawned, and looked listlessly through the front windshield into the oncoming mass of blackness at the edge of his perception just beyond the headlights. He gained a sudden burst of energy as he recognized the mailbox illuminated by his headlights. It belonged to the most disgusting gas station in the region which existed as a health hazard and economic anomaly. However, he knew this shithole was only five minutes from the Riverhouse so he decided to stop and get the basics. 

His car swung into the disabled parking spot in front of the gas station. The building was made of mostly concrete, and was painted lime green and lemon yellow in a checkered pattern. However, the checkers were barely distinguishable because they had become so faded over the years of neglect. The sign, which hung desperately upon the facade of the citrus themed building, read: KWICK N’ KLEEN.

The street lights ominously flickered over the top of the car as he shifted it into park. He glanced around at his surroundings. There was only one other car in the vicinity; a single, deteriorating beige sedan. It had a black bag in place of a passenger’s side window, and was covered in mud. It undoubtedly belonged to the poor clerk who was stuck behind the counter all night.

After shifting the car into park, Herc pulled the magic truffles he’d smuggled from Amsterdam out of his knapsack.

Okay, so if I take the truffles now then, in about an hour or so, the journey will begin. That’ll give me enough time to trip all night, have a kickass time, and then head back to father’s house sometime tomorrow… I can’t believe that fucking asshole gave me a deadline. Who is the real child? The kid who wants his vacation to last a bit longer? Or the man who can’t even talk to his son like an adult?! 

He pondered how seriously his father would pursue finding his ostensibly stolen car as he began to munch on the truffles. He gagged violently after pounding mouthful after mouthful of the feces flavored truffles. They had a tang of sour acidity behind a pungent, earthy base. It was like eating fermented dirt.

After having downed the entirety of his thirty gram stash of truffles, Herc strode up the stairs and opened the door to the gas station. The attendant, who was thoroughly engrossed in his phone, said nothing with a slack-jawed look across his face when Herc entered. The attendant lifted his head, and his right eye quickly flicked up to meet Herc’s. This was followed by his left eye which rolled lazily behind its counterpart.

“Sup, man,” Herc said sheepishly. The man’s name tag read “Ronach”. Herc broke eye contact, and swiftly started gathering the requisite groceries to have a comfortable trip. While walking down the aisles, he noticed the checkered pattern of floor tiles were missing several squares. This left a shallow black divot in place of the tile. 

The owner of this shit-hole must not have the discipline to run a business. Running a business is like keeping bees. You can’t become too attached to your resources, because at the heart of beekeeping is sacrifice and waste. These underdeveloped worker bees don’t know how to make sacrifices. So we, the keepers, have to do it for them. 

His thought was cut off when he almost collided with the gas station attendant in the drink aisle. Somehow Ronach had scampered over and begun restocking the beer selection without Herc noticing. However, he had apparently stopped midway through this task. Ronach stood leaning forward precariously, and used the cooler door to prop himself up. One eyelid was struggling to stay open while the other was firmly shut. It seemed as if a light breeze could have toppled him.

Herc tiptoed around the pharmacologically zombified attendant in order to get access to the cooler where the more expensive selection of beers were held. As he did this, Ronach shot up straight in a panic. He spun around, and glared at Herc through bloodshot eyes.

“You trying to steal something?!” Ronach roared. He emphasized the vowels of words as he spoke with a regal southern drawl. 

“What?”

“You heard me, college boy. Let me see your pockets,” Ronach said. He lunged forward at Herc as he spoke.

“Yo, what the fuck, man! If you touch me, I’ll fuck you up!”

“You’re a liar and a damn thief! It’s your fault I’m stuck here! Fuck you! Crony! Crony! Crony!”

“Hey man, I’m just trying to buy some beers and leave! I don’t want any trouble!” Herc pleaded. He proffered a twenty dollar bill towards the enraged man.

“This doesn’t begin to cover it,” Ronach said. He stumbled towards Herc with a compressed, cocked head. His good eye seemingly cut right through Herc.

“What? It says ‘$10.99’ right there!” Herc exclaimed.

Ronach paused to look at the sign. He scrutinized it as if he were an appraiser inspecting a valuable gem.

“Sorry about that, son. Got a lil confused there,” Ronach said. “You ain’t from around here, huh?”

“You’re all good… I’ve actually grown up here my whole life. My family has a little Riverhouse right up around the bend. We’ve been going there for family vacations ever since I was a kid.”

“But do you have roots here?”

“Yes, my family founded the Sutetcipe Plantation. You know, the one they use for weddings down the way?”

The attendant stared ahead with a dead look as if he had missed Herc’s question.

“So uh… Yea I have roots,” Herc said.

“Those ain’t roots. You don’t know about our life around here,” Ronach said without breaking his stare.

“Like Hell I don’t! My people were among first to see the New World as they stood on the deck of the Santa Maria! What roots run deeper than that?”

“My people were in the hull,” Ronach answered. He paused to hock a large wad of snot into the divot on the floor. “With the cargo.”

Oh shit, it is one of those people again.

“Listen man, I didn’t have anything to do with your family. We spent our blood, sweat and tears to get to where we are today. Nobody gifted anything to us. And really, you should be thanking me.”

“Thanking ya?” Ronach chuckled. “Now why would I do that?”

“Imagine how ass-backwards America would be if we had not cleared the land, and driven the natives into extinction! Where would we be without the keepers who built America by operating a successful plantation?” Herc pedantically asked. 

“I reckon you and I might have switched spots.”

“No, no, no. I’m sorry, sir, but you simply do not have what it takes. I don’t mean that disparagingly! It isn’t your fault. It is all about the blood that runs through my veins.”

“Ahh, that is a bunch of bullshit. The blood that runs through your veins is no more special than the water that runs in that godforsaken river. The river can’t think. It only knows one thing; how to flow south.”

“Oh really? Well, my grandfather survived the Great Depression! And do you know why he succeeded while others’ failed? He hired agitators to infiltrate the reds’ labor organizations. Eventually, if you succeed in breaking the rules enough, you can make them.”

“Hey now, I’m a good southern boy. And so was my daddy and my daddy’s daddy! We ain’t never been no kin to no fuckin’ reds. Now, with that bein’ said, you know God damn well it ain’t right for your people to pay a man so little that he can barely eat! How can we be playing the same game if you’re following different rules?”

“Oh, come on, man! If you had a little pride in this place then maybe–”

“I can’t fix up this shit-hole because of the fuckin’ property taxes! And the loan on my car that I need in order to get to this fuckin place! And keeping up with the interest rates on my credit card is damn near impossible. What should I do, take out another loan, and somehow magically come up with the time to go to college? And not to mention food and clothes for my children so they can grow up to–”

“To what? Let’s face it, the most noble thing your son can aspire to do is die in battle. And how would he be enabled to follow his noble destiny were it not for my father who supplied him with arms?”

“Fuck you.”

Herc felt an acute twinge of guilt.

“Hey man, I’m sorry that was a little over the line. I’m really not a bad guy. I just want what is best for everyone. All I’m saying is that everyone can’t be a millionaire. So why not allow those of us who are capable of wielding real power to help those who are not? You see, sometimes people need decisions to be made for them.”

“You should give your money away.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t do that. Do you know how much a dollar is worth in my hands? Do you know what I can do with it?”

“All I know is that your folks spend an awful lot of money convincing my folks that money isn’t important.”

“That’s where my folks are wrong. Or lying at least. Money is the most important thing in the world. Even after I die, my money will live on. With a little bit of care and instruction, it can act on its own. You’d be surprised how much my grandfather accomplished from beyond the grave.”

“I pity you, sir.”

Ronach countenance shifted slowly and subtly from a state of confused agitation to an uneasy understanding. It was as if he had heard something that Herc could not. Ronach grimly smiled at Herc revealing a set of teeth that looked like a jagged bar graph.

“Please, take whatever you want from my store. It doesn’t matter,” Ronach said.

“It’s all good man, I really wasn’t trying to steal. You seem like a smart guy, and I’m glad we could have this talk. What do I owe you?”

“One red cent,” he said, suddenly in a gruff manner.

“What? Come on man here, take the twenty bucks,” Herc said proffering the dollar to stone faced Ronach. Ronach ignored the bill, and continued to stare ahead, as if looking through Herc.

“Fine, you want a penny?” Herc said as he reached into his pocket. He fished out a penny which was dark green from oxidation. “Here it is, your God damned penny. Happy now?”

He accepted the penny with a smile, but no eye contact.

“GET OUT OF HERE NOW!” Ronach roared. Both of his eyes flicked and locked onto Herc as his pupils narrowed into pinpoints. Herc stumbled backwards, and tripped over the void where a black tile should have been. Frantically, he collected his snacks and beer before pushing himself through the door and out to his car. 

The keys jingled like bells as Herc bobbled them in his sweaty hands. They slipped from his grasp causing them to skid underneath his car. His arm blindly swung about as he felt around for them. After several seconds of panic-stricken searching, he felt the cold metal, and heard the tinkle of the keys as his hand made contact. After standing up, Herc looked over his shoulder, and was relieved to discover Ronach had disappeared. Two sharp beeps sounded as the doors were unlocked. With blinding speed, Herc opened the door, locked himself in, and threw the car into gear. As the car tore out of the parking lot, it left only a trail of burned rubber behind.

---

After driving far enough to feel safe again, Herc breathed a sigh of relief. He chuckled to himself. 

Hahahah God damn that was one crazy junkie! Man what hell! Spending your life in a gas station all fucked up on xanax? I’d die before I let that happen. What a crazy trip story. The boys will get a kick out of this.

Herc continued down the road for several more minutes before noticing a glimmer in the darkness. As he pulled closer, he recognized the glimmer as the reflective cover which enveloped the group of mailboxes outside of a dusty side road. The car slowed and turned onto the long, steeply sloping driveway which he knew so well. 

The green darkness seemed to unravel and open as he drove further and further down the road towards his home. The full moon guided him down the pathway and illuminated the forest around him. It seemed as if there was a macabre puppet show being produced by the arms of the trees. The pitch black shadows were dancing over the chilly, light blue rays bouncing off the moon. 

Herc began to feel the psychedelic tickle crawl up his spine. A grin slowly forced itself onto his face. The truffles took a few hours to reach full potency, but, as a self-assigned psychonaut, he recognized that he was being eased into the preamble of his journey. The familiar glow enveloped him as the landscape subtly morphed.

Here we go.

There was a sharp crack as Herc opened a beer. He took a sip as he pulled into the driveway of his home. The large clumps of dangling spanish moss looked like tinsel on the barren oak trees which encircled his home. The leaves cracked and crinkled under his foot as he stepped out of the car. 

The overgrown grass tickled the side of his leg as he took a long pause to look at the facade. It was a zombie rotting away from years of neglect. To the untrained eye, the structure looked like any of the shambly homes which speckled the side of the Edisto river. However, Herc saw it for what it was; a decrepit vestige of his family’s former glory. The spectre of years of joy, love and, most of all, contentment resided within the rotting cabinets and hollow walls. He couldn’t remember when things were good, but he knew when they weren’t. 

Herc left his bags in the car, and slowly walked over to the wooden floating dock which was to the right of the boat landing. The moonlight struck the steady flow of the blackwater river and imprinted the perfect image of the moon upon the opaque canvas. He gazed at the moon as the water passed through it.

The dark color of the water was created through the steeping of cypress roots which lived on the precipice between the land and the river. The roots of the trees stuck out from underneath the depths as if they were periscopes of submarines. The water, despite being an inky black color, was as pure as crystal.

Herc walked back towards his car, which was parked underneath his home, when something caught his eye. About fifty feet away sat a ramshackle shed which could hardly be called a structure at this point. It had long been abandoned by the time his family had taken over the property. 

Damn, my home might be a run down piece of shit, but this fucker is on its last legs. At least I can walk into my home without the floors rotting from underneath me. And look at that rust! It looks like it is covered in crusty chicken pox! All those years of blasting that place with shotguns and pellet guns really did a number on it. It is kinda pretty though, in a melancholy way–

His thought was cut off as he felt a strong wave of euphoric confusion rush over him. A tightness cinched across his body and consciousness.

Hahahah wow! I love this fungus most of all! I need to get my shit and go inside before I get stuck out here lookin’ all fucked up in the outdoors like a degenerate. 

After grabbing his bag, he climbed the stairs towards the front entrance. The floorboards creaked with every footfall. Giddiness overcame him as he reached the top of the steps, and he decided to ring the cast iron bell attached to his front porch. As soon as the bell sounded, a wave of spiders streamed from underneath causing him to lose his balance and tumble backwards. There was a loud crunch of the rotten door frame giving away as Herc fell backwards into his home. 

Home sweet home.

The flashlight on his phone illuminated the myriad of cobwebs which were draped across the room like spindles. He waded through the darkness in search of the breaker box. Along the way, he took immense pleasure in destroying the spiders’ homes. 

Fuck you and your home, ya bitchass spider! Hahah — oh shit BINGO!

He excitedly found the breaker box and flipped the main switch. After several seconds of strained silence, the home became illuminated. 

Thank FUCK! I would have rather died than return to father’s house tonight. 

The creaking sound of the floorboards followed Herc until he reached the ladder which stood adjacent to the master bedroom. He slowly ascended the ladder until reaching a trapdoor on the ceiling. The door barely budged until Herc threw all of his weight against it, and caused it to break open. Herc’s head peered through the portal in the ceiling and looked around at the ghastly remains of his childhood. Strewn across the floor, in various states of decay, were sketchbooks and journals that he had kept as a child.

Herc thumbed through the books, and was transported into the world of innocence which he had fled years ago. Despite the fact that the images were crudely drawn and amateur, the fantastical worlds contained within the pages were as vivid as real life to him. There were whimsical stories of Herc and his closests friends robbing banks, saving princesses, and fighting for galactic freedom.

Oh man, I had forgotten about the story of Herc’s Roundtable of Merry Space Pirates! Haha I thought drawing Kalin as a fat kid was the funniest shit in the world! And Ethan always ended up with his secret crush, Taylor! Oh and TJ always wanted to be strong so I gave him grotesquely large muscles. Mason was either a silver tongued face-man or the expert on magic! And really what is the difference? Christian always insisted I draw him with a bow and arrow. He absolutely worshipped Legolas when Lord of The Rings was in theatres. Man, I wish I still knew them so I could show them this.

Herc stopped flipping the pages when he arrived at the story where his gang of friends executed a jail break for which they had been wrongly accused of murder. He stared at the self portrait sitting behind bars in a black and white jumpsuit. The book was closed and placed back into the dusty outline from which it was taken. Herc descended the stairs, never to think of the books or his childhood again.

The past has passed. The past has passed. The past has passed. Ugly memories won’t help me now.

After doing a bit of light cleaning, Herc settled in downstairs on the couch as the walls of the room started to change. They were steadily breathing in and out as if they had been awakened along with the lamps. Baptismal waves of pleasure washed over him while he searched his phone for appropriate music. Let’s see… you can never go wrong with Some Rap Songs… 

Earl Sweatshirt’s detailed lyricism filled the room. Herc could almost, but not actually, see the words dance around as they tumbled and flowed into one another. People just don’t… They can’t!…  Only I will be… They’ll never know… The greatest tragedy… is not knowing… If a tree falls— 

His thoughts became cluttered and rushed, but it made perfect sense to him in the moment. It was as if the small secrets of the universe were opening up to him. Everything that he was troubled by flowed into a single river of comprehension. 

In a fit of inspiration, Herc shot up from a reclined position and grabbed his notebook. He quickly scribbled down four lines of text which he couldn’t properly order inside of his mind. Look back later look back later look back later don’t forget don’t– 

A child’s scream cut through the air.

The hairs all over his body stood up in attention. It felt as if his scalp was being pricked with acupuncture needles, and his skin was being pulled taut. Herc hastily shut off the speaker and listened attentively. What the fuck what the fuck did I just hear that??? No it had to be Earl… I’ve just never noticed it before… I never… it wasn’t my fault… She… 

The injection of panic into his drug cocktail caused his thinking to become increasingly murky. Logic was disintegrating. He stumbled over to the glass encased gun cabinet which sat several feet to the right of the front door. 

Where are the God damn keys?! Fuck this, I have to break it! He wrapped his hand in a nearby T-shirt before smashing it through the glass. The guns had ants crawling all over them which he spastically swatted away. After realizing they were not real, he grabbed and hugged the double barreled shotgun to his chest. The cylinders cracked open with a hollow thud, and he loaded in two, twelve-gauge shells.

He shut off all the lights in his home, and warily cracked the front door. He anxiously stared into the gloom, but was unable to discern anything because his eyes were still adjusting to the darkness.

After several moments he chuckled at himself and started to relax. Whew… I bet if someone could see me they’d think I was a crackhead! Hah! Boy, damn…  I might have to take a little break from these drugs when I get back–

A child’s scream cut through the air.

The pit of his stomach tightened. I know that was real… Fuck me… He began to descend the stairs while swinging his head back and forth like a spotlight. What the fuck kind of hillbilly ass prank is this… Must have seen the lights and figured they would have a little bit of fun with the college boy… fucking lowlifes… or… No, no, no that is OVER WITH… Father said forget about… He said… She said–

A child’s scream cut through the air.

“What the fuck is this! Who are you! This isn’t funny at all!” he desperately screamed into the void.

By the time he had reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. This, along with the full moon, allowed for a decent line of sight into the trees surrounding his home.

He scanned the treeline looking for his terrorizer in the darkness. When I get my hands on those motherfuckers… I can’t remember… I won’t remember… These damn drugs… It’s done! It couldn’t be…  There was no trace–

Suddenly, a clanging sounded from the shack adjacent to his home as if there was a trapped bird inside. The rattling was sparse at first. 

“HELLO?!” he yelped.

The shack stopped shuddering. He tensely waited on bated breath. Slowly, he squatted down and picked up a smooth stone. He paused pensively before flinging the stone at the shed. It soared through the air, and struck the shed squarely on it’s rusted door. The thirty seconds of silence that followed felt like an eternity to Herc.

The shack erupted in a violent ringing. Herc immediately dropped to his knees and threw his hands over his ears. This did nothing to prevent the piercing sound of a bell from penetrating his ears. 

Just as he felt as if his eardrums were about to burst, the ringing subsided, but was quickly replaced by the sound of barks, squeals and harsh yips. Herc squeezed the gun into the crease between his shoulder and his right pectoral. 

A child’s scream cut through the air.

The door slowly creaked open. A pale, wrinkled hand slunk from underneath the bottom. It firmly planted itself on the first step before a second hand crept behind it. Then, in an instant, the creature scampered down the steps on all fours. From afar, Herc had trouble identifying the animal that had escaped the pockmarked building. His brain was on fire with fear, but something was pulling him towards it like a magnet. The safety on the gun clicked softly as he disengaged it before tramping through the forest towards the creature.

The shadowy form paced back and forth with its face in the ground. Periodically, it lifted its head, and appeared to be sniffing the air like a dog. But this was no dog.

The creature stepped into a stream of moonlight that bled through the canopy. The cold blue beam hit the creature’s skin revealing the truth. It had the frame and figure of a human, but with an inhumanly emaciated body. It’s skin was as pale as a rotting corpse with dark brown patches all over in an array of jagged shapes. There were thick layers of matted scar tissue where the eyes and mouth should have been. The body was mostly featureless; no ears, no nipples, no hair, and certainly no sex organs. Attached to its feet were dirty, cracked claws that plunged themselves deep into the earth with every step.  It crept forward on all fours before sitting on its hind legs to sniff the air above.

Herc was enraptured by the sickly sight of horror before him. Yet, after a few moments, he felt the magnetic pull which told him to continue. I need to see its face, I need to see its face, I need to see if it’s mine…

As Herc advanced, he kicked a small, silver bell on the forest floor. It let out another inordinately loud, crystal-clear ringing. He threw his hands to his ears in vain once again. A flash of recognition lit up Herc’s brain as he looked down at the bell.

The Gimp squared itself with Herc. They both stood frozen. The sightless matt of tissue, where its eyes should have been, seemed to cut through Herc. An invisible, unacknowledged tether ran between the two.

The Gimp let out a desperate, muted wail. It had no mouth to cry from, yet the noise which emitted from its throat induced a feeling of existential dread in Herc. Tears of self pity rolled down his cheeks as he quietly sobbed in fear. The Gimp seemed to register these tears and replaced its muted wail with a deafening screech. It sounded as if a pig was being stabbed through its snout. The Gimp rose onto its hind legs, twisted itself into an unnatural bipedal stance and swung it’s arms about wildly. 

Then, the Gimp suddenly broke into a haphazard gallop towards him. Shakily, the sights of the gun were brought in alignment with one another and then trained on the Gimp. Simultaneously, Herc’s eyes and the trigger were squeezed. There was a thunderous boom as hellfire shot forth from both barrels of the gun. Herc tentatively opened his eyes only to realize his vision had doubled. 

The sound of flesh slapping flesh revolted Herc as he smacked his own forehead in an attempt to regain a single vision. The image of a pair of identical Gimps running towards him caused him to immediately abandon the futile slapping. His body finally broke from its locked stance, and he ran for his life. The steady thump of Herc’s feet was drowned out by the plaintive screeches of the Gimp. As he ran towards his home, he never stopped, for even a second, to look behind him. 

The trees swirled around him in a demonic dance. The faces of his loved ones appeared in the rough, knotted bark of the trees. Some of the distorted faces leered and chanted a droning dirge while others cackled at him.

“WHERE WILL YOU GOOOO-OHHHHH???

WHERE WILL YOU GOOOOOOOOOO-OHHHHHH????

WHERE WILL YOU GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?!?!?!?

HAHAHAAHAHAAHAHHAAHA,” they sang. The mocking chorus became increasingly aggressive with each pass, and the timbre of the collective voices of his loved ones became hoarse.

 Herc opened his mouth, but no words were pushed out. Vertigo overcame him, and his vision blurred. Mercifully, the trees halted their chant. For a moment, the cacophonous sounds of the black heart of the forest fell into complete silence. The faces of his loved ones coalesced into a uniform countenance of pity. One tree, which looked like his mother, sobbed momentarily before abruptly being transmuted into the face of Pluto. The other trees which encircled him quickly transformed into an identical caricature. 

Pluto said nothing for what might as well have been eternity. The harsh crack of a gavel caused Herc to fall to his knees. Once again, the faces in the oak trees transformed. For the first time in his life, Herc stared at a true reflected image of himself. 

His knees, which were firmly rooted into the ground, began to feel ticklish. He looked down only to find a thick blanket of ants and spiders crawling up his thighs. Frantically, he attempted to brush them off, but didn’t get far before he felt an icy set of fingers wrap around the nape of his neck. The wind was viciously knocked out of him as he was pulled backwards and laid flat. There was only the sound of his lungs pathetically wheezing as he ineffectively tried to regain his breath.

The Gimp slowly crept onto Herc’s chest on all fours. It cocked its sagging, melted head back, and let loose a long muted screech towards the moon. Herc vomited as the scent of decay filled his nose. The dark patches across it’s skin looked like crusty, dried blood. Blood that was dried long ago, yet had never been washed. It craned its neck forward, pressing its face firmly against Herc’s. The creature impotently jerked its head to and fro as if it was an animal about to vomit. Then, Herc heard a soft, guttural voice emanating from its throat.

“FAAAAAAAAAAAA…………… FAAAAAAAAAAAAATH……….. FATHER!!!!!!!!!” it wheezily groaned.

The Gimp threw its head back once again as if it were going to howl. It’s jaws shook as they strained against the tension of it’s own skin. The scar tissue covering the beast’s mouth stretched until small tears began to form. In one fluid motion, the creature’s jaws ripped apart the thick mat of skin, and threw its head forward towards Herc. White pus spewed from the Gimp’s flesh in lieu of blood. It bit into Herc’s shoulder with jagged, rotting teeth, but didn’t break skin. Herc felt as if coarse, wet sandpaper was being dragged across his shoulder. The Gimp was trying to suckle.

Herc became overcome with disgust. They rolled around on the forest floor desperately grappling with one another. Upon having its teeth ripped from its father’s shoulder, the Gimp resumed it’s wailing. They tumbled around the forest floor for several moments before Herc was able to grab the Gimp by the back of the neck and throw it off. He blindly ran full speed into the dark. The pitter patter of small, childlike feet followed him.

There was a short delay between the sensation of Herc’s toe being shattered on a rock, and the excruciating pain that followed. His left knee made a sickly popping noise before buckling. His balance was lost, and he tumbled…

And tumbled…

And tumbled… 

The nauseating crack of thick bone echoed throughout the river when his head struck the jagged piece of concrete. During his tumble, the crystal face of his watch slammed against a stone causing it to shatter. Water seeped into the watch which caused small bubbles of air to rise to the surface. His crumpled, paralyzed body laid face down in the river unable to register the hot flow of blood oozing through his hair. The blood flowed into the water as if it were excited to leave his body, and circled his cracked skull like a halo. The trail of blood drifted down the indifferent, pure, black water like a glossy oil slick. 

A sickening gurgle came from the bubbles that streamed out of his mouth and popped upon reaching the surface of the water. The stream of bubbles turned to a trickle, and, eventually, halted altogether. All of Herc’s perception, even that of the bloody darkness which was blinding him, stopped. 

---

A child’s scream cut across the cabin. Herc shot to consciousness abruptly, but he hadn’t been asleep. Warily, he looked around the nearly empty cabin only to discover a young woman staring at him. It was her; the woman with skin the complexion of freshly turned over earth. However, this woman was far younger than the elderly woman who he had met on the plane the first time. Tentatively, he felt the back of his head only to realize it was unscathed.

“What the fuck happened?!?!? Where the fuck am I??? WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU???” Herc asked frantically.

“You really don’t recognize me?” the woman said.

Herc opened his mouth, but shut it before he could say anything. A moment passed before the memories, memories he had tried so hard to repress, came flooding back.

“I… I… it’s you? Megara?”

“I look much different than I did at the bottom of those stairs, huh?”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready to be a father. I wasn’t ready to become like my father! I just couldn’t! I just… You didn’t tell me you were pregnant! I didn’t even know where you were! You shouldn’t have told me! Or you should have at least told me early enough so we could’ve fixed this… This isn’t my fau–”

“Shut the fuck up!” Megara boomed. “We could have had a life! You sacrificed nothing! I was the one that carried your child for eight months! I was the one who left everything behind to find you after you abandoned me!”

She rose from her seat, and stood over Herc who sat slumped. He tried to ignore her as he stared through the cabin window into the void.

“I spent the time painting the nursery! I built the crib! I chose the name Belle! And what did you do? Just one cowardly push. That’s all you could muster.”

Herc sat silently and continued to stare vacantly out the window. Then something caught his attention. His forehead pressed against the icy window in an attempt to better discern the countless, small white dots which littered the empty space outside of the plane. They seemed to grow larger as they rapidly drew closer to the window and encircled the plane.

“Looking for someone?” Megara asked.

The figures in the distance were now close enough for Herc to make out the silhouette of human heads in the distance. He turned back to the window in order to face Megara.

“What the fuck is this? What do you want from me?” he beseeched.

Megara said nothing and pointed a finger back to the window. At first, Herc had trouble recognizing the disembodied head which floated outside the window. The head slowly rotated as it hovered in the void to reveal the face of Herc with a frozen countenance of aghast horror. Another head with a look of euphoric joy spun around in the distance behind it. Yet another floated nearby with an expression of flat boredom. An anxious face bounced through space, and lightly struck a head that had a look of rage. All told, there were thousands of heads spinning aimlessly in the void around the plane. Each head bore a facial expression reflective of every conceivable emotional state and their various permutations that Herc had gone through in life.

Taken aback by his own deceased heads, Herc stumbled out of his seat and fell into the aisle. The top of his head pointed north while his feet pointed south. The only sound in the cabin was Herc’s confused, terrified screaming.

Megara stood over Herc with her arms folded.

“You know I’m right. You know every single thing I have said is true. You can’t run from yourself,” she said calmly.

“What is this?” he croaked, breathlessly.

“We’re inside your brain. The universe is collapsing around you, at least from your perspective.”

“… What?”

“Your dying body is laying in that river right now along with the river scum. In reality, you slept through your flight from Amsterdam. You arrived at your father’s house safe and sound after a quiet ride with Chester. However, upon returning home you immediately got into an argument with your father. You threw a tantrum when he told you he had already demolished the Riverhouse. Although, I must say, you were right about one thing: he knew your precious drawing books were inside. He never even sold the place. He pounded it into dust just to teach you a lesson,” she said.

“No, no, no, no…”

“Oh yes, honey. You kept screaming to your father that he had killed your ‘only true home’. You threw a tantrum and scampered off to the vacant lot where your Riverhouse used to be. As soon as you got out of the car, you ran headlong towards the river. You shot yourself in the head at the top of the boat ramp and tumbled into the water. Apparently you’re a terrible shot because here we are dying a very slow death,” Megara said.

“No, no, no… I saw the elderly version of you on the plane! The handsome couple was having a screaming match on the walkways of the airport terminal! I stole my father’s car from Chester and almost wrecked it! I was yelled at by that guy at the gas station! And the Gimp…” Herc said, shuddering.

“Yes, yes that myth is a lot more fun than the unceremonious truth, but it is a myth nonetheless. You were so scared of having to work a job for the rest of your life. Well, don’t worry, you won’t,” she said. 

As Megara finished her sentence her body began to violently shake. Her body thrashed and seized as she fell onto her back. She laid motionless on the burnt orange and black colored, fractal pattern of the aisle. Her head was pointed south while her feet pointed north. Herc stood up and tentatively walked over to her and stood over her body. Her crooked neck and pale blue face were in the identical position as they were on the day of her death.

Suddenly her body seized violently once more before morphing into a perfect mirror image of Herc. The doppelganger stood up to face him.

“Hey,” the mirror image said, smiling.

“Let me off this fucking plane! I want to see my mother! I need to see my mother!” Herc sobbed.

“Come on, man. I really hope we can reconcile this before things go dark. You know what I’m telling you is true. I guess our brain chose to spend the last moments of activity by reliving an alternate version of our last day alive. I guess it was trying to tell you something before it shut off the lights. Weird how that works, huh?” his doppleganger said.

Herc slumped into his seat in an exasperated lump.

“So… you’re… me? and I’m–”

“Dead. Well, not yet. It’ll be dark soon, but not dark like you’re thinking. It is utter nothingness. Come on, let’s look out the window.”

Herc wiped tears from his eyes and followed himself to the window.

“Do you remember any of the days when you made these faces?” His doppleganger asked.

“No, I can’t… I can’t remember,” Herc sighed.

“Pity. They remember you. Every one of these heads thought about today. About this moment. And you spent your entire life forgetting them. Forgetting your past in an attempt to erase it. All of your attempts to run from them have led you to me,” the doppelganger said.

“No, no please I want my mama! I want my mama!!! I’m not ready to go! Please I’ll do anything! Please I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I’m not ready! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Herc screamed through anguished sobs.

“I’m sorry Herc, but we both know what has to happen.”

“Who were the other people? The Cinnabon Man? The handsome couple? What did I write on the paper?!? What was it all for?! Please tell me!” Herc said, desperately pleading with himself.

“You really couldn’t recognize the couple?”

“I just can’t remember! I’m sorry!”

The doppelganger opened its mouth, but quickly morphed into the perfect image of Father Suez before it could answer.

“Then I suppose you’ll never know. You have truly been a disappointment, son,” Suez said.

“Father, I–”

“Five.”

“What?”

“Four.”

“No…. NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!”

“Three.”

“PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING JUST PLEASE I’M NOT READY I’M NOT READY I REGRET EVERYTHING I’M NOT READY TO GO PLEASE NO I’LL–”