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Behind Closed Doors

Discussion in 'In-Character Area' started by Maple Bourbon, Jun 8, 2020.

  1. Maple Bourbon

    Maple Bourbon Newcomer

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    This thread will be used as something of a Journal to document the dreams / inner monologue / the workings of my character William ‘Bill’ Sullivan.​


    A simple brown faux leather journal bound with coarse thread. The pages inside are scattered with test-scribbles from a ballpoint pen. The writings depicted are usually rather meticulously written, though the consistency simply is not there. Some entries are neat and orderly whilst others sprawl across the page with little to no rhyme or reason. Occasionally, the ink may be splotched or smeared, it’d appear the pen isn’t of high quality. Many of the first pages are torn out, and what may be tears or raindrops scatter some of the pages. The inside of the cover is barren, spare a coffee stain, and a few test scribbles.
     
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  2. Maple Bourbon

    Maple Bourbon Newcomer

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    I remember closing my eyes but not falling asleep. She lulled me in as she usually does, promises of rest, of warmth. Promises that if I would just outstretch my hand that she’d hold me, leaving me refreshed and with a sense of clarity, relaxed and ready to face the day. I don’t mean relaxing like a hot bath or an evening spent on the porch with a glass of bourbon facing the setting sun, I mean sleep. Real sleep. The kind where you close your eyes and wake up with a sense of purpose, rejuvenated, happy. It was finally my body that betrayed my trust by caving to the temptresses lullaby, if I could have forced my eyes to stare upon that wall any longer, I would have. The lies she spews are endless.

    I had the dream again.

    I held her.


    It always ends that way; Holding her.

    So cold. So pale.

    So beautiful.




    The train ride was rather uneventful, more crowded than most transfers. The Officers didn’t hassle me much, they took my visa and confiscated a stashed nutrience bar, not that I would miss it much. City Seventeen, a crowded urban center bustling with thousands of new faces, all with their own deadlines to meet and problems to face. I recall peering into their eyes expecting a smidgen of humanity and recall being met with what seemed to be dagger-like glares. Just smile, Bill. They weren’t all bad, I met a few fine folk. I was even given labor, a fine gentleman named Hamish accompanied me. The Civil Worker’s woman who happened to have held administration over the detail was rather kind, Miss Cecile. She’s certainly got a head on her shoulders, that one.
     
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  3. Maple Bourbon

    Maple Bourbon Newcomer

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    The dread always settles in when I realize I'm slipping away. The terror is overwhelming, it makes my skin crawl. I hate her.

    I hate myself.


    For what I did;

    What I didn’t do.


    It was from my teat her demons suckled, I lactated the vile poison they craved. I knew she was sick, and yet I fostered the salivating blight to satiate my own selfish desires. I liked the things they made her do.



    You were supposed to protect her, Bill.

    You made that vow the day you passed that band over her finger.

    In sickness, and in health;
    For better, for worse.





    I met Hamish again today, another work cycle. He’s a fine man, he’s got a heart under that gruff exterior. A gentleman happened to have snagged my ration, the payment for my labor. The CWU and Metro Police weren’t too pleased with him. The poor soul was just looking for some food. They insisted he give it to me, though I couldn’t bear to take it from him. He needs it more than I do, i’m certain of that fact. Miss Cecile, Hamish, and a curious oriental man named Win shared coffee with me, that I paid for much to Cecile’s displeasure, over a rather pleasant conversation. I couldn’t let them waste precious coin on me. To take and reap what they have sown so that I may see salvation whilst they rip and tear with every fiber their mortal carriers can muster, treading through the expanseless miles of muck ahead of them when every cell in their body begs them to suck in a lung full of the toxic sludge in which they thrash. No it’s not right, I couldn’t. They have a future.




    I thought of their smiles as I laid there, maybe I can protect them, it helped me forget for a while. But fear not old friend, she did not forget you, no.

    She will never forget you.
     
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  4. Maple Bourbon

    Maple Bourbon Newcomer

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    The panic, the blood pounding in my ears, the delirium; The first things I can remember each morning before I realize who I am, where I am, what I am. I can feel them, my own demons; clawing at the back of my eyeballs nagging me, lighting a wildfire in the pit of my gut then howling their shrieks of anguish, begging me to extinguish it so that they may partake of the sweet burning nectar, “How benevolent of you, Bill!” They’d then praise their manipulative voices shrouded in malice, “It wasn’t your fault, how could you have known?”. I lose myself in my thoughts again, praying, begging for consolation. I was found sobbing.


    “It’s a choice each day to pick up that bottle, Bill.”
    They explained to me, like flipping a switch when I felt the room too bright.
    If it were only that easy.



    I met a gentleman named Sean today, when he gave me his name, it seemed to pierce under my fourth rib, directly into my heart, I swear it must’ve drained the color from my face. Of course, I had to act as if all was fine. He wouldn’t understand. He is an ambitious fellow with a neatly trimmed goatee donning a rather smart pair of glasses atop the bridge of his nose. I wonder what went through his mind when he looked himself in the mirror that morning. “My, what a handsome devil you are.”, perhaps? Not to imply that he wasn’t a handsome man, quite the contrary. I can’t recall the last time I stared upon myself and saw anything aside from scum, I hardly feel human anymore. I was late to rise, much to my own disservice. I happened to have missed both of my ration shipments. Mister Hamish and I spoke privately today. I walked him home, I felt it my duty, I suppose. I didn’t quite know why, though I am certain now it was the correct choice.

    He hugged me.


    If only I could tell him. Express to him how much it meant to me.

    Like the fool I am, I messed it up when I tried. “It’s quite alright,” or, “I assure you, Hamish-”. Something foolish along those lines. None-the-less,I promised him i’d wake in the morning though the universe knows it’s the last thing on my list of worldly desires.​
     
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  5. Maple Bourbon

    Maple Bourbon Newcomer

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    His after-image is burned into my retinas. Every time I close my eyes, I stare directly back into his own, bulging in their sockets like some sort of demented muppet; fogged over as if to say “Theres nobody home! Try again tomorrow!”, mocking the remorse and regret I feel every breathing moment. He looked so innocent hanging there.

    I trace the unnatural shape of his neck in my mind, I can’t help but to. His mouth lolled open into that silent wail as if he were once again an innocent baby, pleading for his beautiful mother’s teat, when I cut him down. Calling to my betrothed, begging her to give him life in the same manner that I stole hers away, sip by sip until she lay empty like the bottle of prescribed poison id ‘gifted’ her so eagerly in return for carnal pleasure. Staring through me as I held his head, as if to imply that I no longer exist in his eyes, “You’re dead to me, old man.” Those glossy orbs proclaim. Believe me Shawn, I wish I were.
    If only id have been a better father to him.

    To both of them.


    It’s exhausting. The fear, the stress, the endless torrent that thrashes the slab of gnarled sun-baked driftwood I cling to so desperately. It’d be so easy to just let go, to sink into indigo depths that consistently weighs my arms down, to watch the bubbles that encompass my final breath as they escape my broken body. Why don’t I, why haven’t I, why can’t I? I don’t know.


    I don’t want to hurt anyone, anymore. I can’t hurt anyone anymore.


    I'm indebted to whatever cruel entity created me, because I kept that god forsaken promise.



    Miss Cecile happened to have found Mister Hamish and I. She brought us to the Civil Worker’s Administration building. She offered me a position, or.. The opportunity to obtain a position in management. - I insisted she give it to Hamish. He expressed his desire to help others, in good faith to me and I must say that I felt only pride in his words. Though we’re of no relation, I can’t help but to feel affection and admiration for this man. He’s twice the human I'll ever be. Mister Sean entered soon-after upon his own accord under the same demureness, it warmed me to see such a thing. I can only pray his heart is pure. - He caught me as I was leaving, “You’re a great man, Bill. You’ve got the potential to be a great father” I couldn’t be certain if that is what he had said, or what I wanted to hear. All I know is that it’s what I had heard. I happen to have choked up, I cannot recall comprehending what he’d said afterwards.

    All I’m certain of is that in that moment, the effect he had on me was beyond anything I can express in words alone.
     
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  6. Maple Bourbon

    Maple Bourbon Newcomer

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    She had me fooled, how easily I abdicated to her outstretched arms. She cradled me like my mother had when I was vulnerable. She’s a deceitful mistress, lulling you into a sense of amiability before she lay herself bare, her abhorrent tendrils writhing their way out of the shadows, clasping unrelenting around your throat salivating as she watches the will to live drain from your eyes until all that remains are two milky marbles embed, forgotten in the lush soil that comprise your skull.


    I see her smile, and count lines around her mouth, the crows feet firmly planted at the crook of her eyes. The lines in her face of both joy and anguish, past and present. The way her hand felt in mine. I hear her laugh, the quiet nothings she’d murmur as we’d relish in each other's embrace. And yet every time I open my eyes I am greeted by her derelict figure, her pale desolate carcass sprawled out upon that frigid bathroom floor like some child’s rag-doll abandoned and forgotten. How many had she taken? One too many.

    I loved her, and I betrayed her.


    I held her.

    I always hold her.


    I'm so scared to let go.


    There was an assembly headed by Miss Cecile when I finally arrived in the plaza. I swear there must’ve been thirty citizens clamoring for her attention, “Pick me! Pick me!” like brainless pigeons crowding before a hooded grandmother with a bag of bread crumbs sitting upon a park bench. I swear it’s as if they don’t even view her as human, just another opportunity to make a quick buck. She mentioned she was robbed her first day on the job and the only thing of worth on her person was the shirt across her back and they took it gleefully, those bilious maggots. Perhaps one day they’ll see through her occupation and realize she’s just as human as the next. She’s got a wonderful sense of humor and to have held onto one as unique as hers in times as tumultuous as these, now that is quite the rarity. Needless to say I attended the work detail, not for the pay mind you but to lend a hand where I could. I tried to give my ration to a woman who had stepped in late. I couldn’t help but to feel pity, she looked devastated. I know that sensation all too well, the paralyzing anxiety. “Where will my next meal come from if not here? You’re not going to punish me are you? Please, I need this you don’t understand.” Her expression formed those words without a sound. I understood. Miss Cecile has grown wiser, when she realized that I was trying to forfeit my reward she graced the woman with a ration out of her own pocket. I’ve caught myself wondering if it felt good to give or if she felt only frustration at me when she handed it off. I won’t speak up next time, I’ll simply catch up and pass my ‘reward’ along. We painted over graffiti on some of some buildings. Most of the folks ascended the scaffolding, though I found myself too feeble to even mount the ladder. Pathetic. I received permission to paint under the scaffolding upon the ground floor, Mister Sean joined me. I spotted Mister Hamish and Win, I watched as they clambered up the scaffolding. They’re diligent workers, I felt pride in them.

    I finished my application yesterday night before I yielded to the unrelenting bombardment of my drooping eyelids and bobbing head. It didn’t take long for my application to be processed. I got the position, I am officially a Civil Workers Union member. I don’t know how I feel. I know how I should feel and yet all I feel is hollow. Mister Hamish submitted an application also, he was accepted alongside me. “And how does that make you feel?” the little therapist in my skull pesters; Proud, elated. I wish I understood.


    Sean opened a bar, I hadn’t anticipated such a move, though I can only wish him the best in his endeavors. We all decided to celebrate at his place. Sean is a clever fellow, he discovered that you can evade the higher prices of peddling your wares in the city by purchasing them near the outskirts and selling them closer towards the plaza. I’ve heard its flavor is notably inferior in comparison to the Union approved beer nearer to the plaza. I wouldn’t know, I’ve sworn off of the liquor. Hamish and Win got rather inebriated, and I caught wind that Miss Cecile refused to cease drinking after I'd departed with a hammered Hamish and a drunk Win in tail. A group of Civil Protection officers arrived on scene, right on time to find Hamish Hammered. Just as I promised the officers, I practically carried Hamish home, I would like to say that Mister Win assisted however all he did was an assortment of magic tricks, then consumed an unholy quantity of hydration jelly before disappearing all together.


    I told Hamish; how much it meant to me that he had shown me humanity, how it had changed me. I poured it out, how grateful I was, how much I admired him for the purity of his character, how I aspired to be better. I explained everything.

    At least, that is how it went in my head. He was comatose, black out drunk. I remember regularly drinking to an excess, or.. Do I? I’m not sure any more, that part of my life is always so blurry. I suppose the only thing I really said to him is thank you, not that it really has any meaning.
    I can't tell if it helped, I don't know why I said anything that I did, what would it change.​
     
    #6 Maple Bourbon, Jun 9, 2020
    Last edited: Jun 9, 2020
  7. Maple Bourbon

    Maple Bourbon Newcomer

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    **Quite a few entries are torn out of the journal, but after about a weeks worth of writing, they continue as suddenly as they’d stopped.**

    I can still taste the cold steel of that fourty-four, pressed so firmly against the back of my mouth. I heard the hammer fall. I woke up crying again. How patiently it sat there, biding it’s time within my nightstand, “One day, old man! One day you’ll slip up!” It’d taunt, that gaping hole in it’s face screaming, daring me to pull it’s trigger and spray hot lead through to the back of my skull. I’ve gotten close. I’ve pulled that hammer back, Ive bitten down. I could never find the strength to do it.

    I spent the morning thinking... I get lost sometimes, in my thoughts. As much as they terrify me, I can’t help but to dwell on them.

    It’s been so long since Ive seen her face, I can’t remember what she looks like. I can hear her sweet sweet voice, I can remember the scent of her hair, her smile and the small details, but... Her face is always a blur when I peer upon her... Only god knows the things Ive begged to trade in stead of just one more glance...


    I slipped again; relapsed. I’m a fool, a failure, a drunk. I’ve neglected my duties, Ive squandered my time, everyone’s time.. What worth do I hold to this world? What am I good for? Why am I still here? Is it cowardice? Am I afraid to follow her into the deep dark.. Am I scared that I won’t find her?

    I don’t know, god how I wish I knew.

    I woke up hungover and quite literally crawled off of the train, how disgraceful. I was confused at first, I hoped it was another nightmare, it’s so hard to tell when one ends and when the next one starts. I was assigned an apartment, a quaint little place in Block B. Bigger than my apartment in Seventeen. I spotted Mister Sean and heard Mister Hamish and Miss Cecile are in town, i’m glad they were transferred here. I’ve grown quite fond of them. I hope Mister Win is safe. I don’t know what i’ll do. I’ve grown so frail with age, the food isn’t exactly sustaining. I’ve been contemplating resigning from the Civil Worker’s Union, I’ve failed them too. I’ve been pushing papers, loans, assigning apartments.. The paperwork just doesn’t stop coming, some of the labor has bled into my dreams like a cancerous lesion. Endless miles of reading and stamping, writing, signing. I spent the day in my apartment, still furnished by those who’d occupied it before me, too ashamed to face the day, too ashamed to face my friends.
     
  8. Maple Bourbon

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    A frantic gurgled breath, desperately clinging to life like a babbling brook rushing frantically towards the lowest possible area. The blinding light, the rush of motion as my body is flung into the air, the shattering of my leg when I hit the ground like a bag of meat and bones. Every time I run to that wreck to hold her seizing body, the ground seems to expand before me, endlessly stretching as if some cruel being is playing some kind of satirical joke, fully aware that my shattered leg would bear my weight no more; forcing me to watch from my knees just as I had that night. Watching as the life ebbed ever slower from her body. She didn't even look at me, she didn't even look /for/ me... The sound of the crash echos reverberating in my mind, louder and louder until everything is expunged , casting me into darkness interrupted only by the wailing of the child in the back seat.

    I’ve got a granddaughter. Somewhere in this horrible god forsaken world she’s just as stressed, starved and scared as the rest of us, wondering where her next meal will come from, probably dreaming of a neglectful old man who she once knew. Probably hoping that I had died. Me too. I often wonder if she’s dreaming of her mother? Of her uncle? Of my beloved. Does she miss them all as I do?

    Is she alive?

    I squandered the day, but that has become commonplace. I’m not feeling well these days, though I haven’t in years. I’m not sick, or.. Maybe I am. I’m not ill. I’m just... Broken. I can’t find anything left to give. I can’t find the motivation to get out of bed, or even the motivation to write down my thoughts anymore. I don’t know what I am doing, I don’t know /why/ I'm doing.