Oct 10, 2008

Poetry Friday - The Five Senses Series: Touch

Just a warning--this is a very dark little piece of fiction. I've spent the day listening to my co-worker mangle and mutilate the beautiful English language, and it rasped my last nerve. I think if they don't fire her soon I'm going to have to cut her throat just so she'll stop talking. She's a poorly-educated hick and hearing her talk is like listening to a pig eat slops. A pig in lipstick whose mastery of the language is equal to an eight-year old who was raised in a closet by coat hangers.

That, and reading Clowncar's excellent post about the beautiful Einstein lens forged of raw space stuff and gravity got me thinking science, and about how frighteningly little we really know about anything, and my mind stuck the two together like some sort of bizarre Reese's Cup.

"You got your sleek elegant science in my poor grasp of diction!" "A-hyuck, I got my-all purdy mouth on yer science."

Naturally this is utter fiction, no intent to match any reality or other dimension's reality. I tried very hard NOT to write like me, tried to write this as someone entirely different, someone writing in their little secret diary they keep under the mattress. I tried to avoid writing like I knew what I was doing, in other words. Feedback is very strongly desired.


Dear Diary.

I'm going to do it today. Going to kill myself. I can't stand the touching anymore.

We were so stupid. People. All of us. God we were stupid, and so full of ourselves. I've got the newspaper article here, going to leave it marking my place so--shit, I don't know why. I just am. I can see the headline in my sleep: "Large Halon Collider Test A Success! 'God Particle' Found!"

I can see it rippling. They're touching it. They touch every goddamned thing. Everything all the time moving, everything always being touched. Everything ripples, moves, tears. Everything is always moving.

God what idiots they must have been. I hope they all died first. Actually, no. I hope they're still alive, all of them. I HOPE they're alive to see the piles of bodies, alive to hear the news reports about the mass suicides, the pacts, the religious crazies. I heard China has been setting up suicide assistance places, where people line up by the thousands so army men can shoot them and toss them in huge lime pits. I hope those big-heads are constantly being TOUCHED, skin crawling all the time with plucking, groping...whatever they have for fingers.

Someone at the soup line today was saying that she'd heard that it had almost opened a door, that we almost let...everything, she said. "They almost let EVERYTHING through." But not quite. It was more like cracking the window a little bit, so that the wind can get in but not the birds and the tigers. Just enough room to stick a finger through to TOUCH us. Something. Some things. From nobody knows where. All we know is that after it happened, people started going crazy. Being touched all the time, everything. People, things, the water, everything, like we're all forever being poked and groped and touched by something we can't see, something just outside of your vision, like being poked in the dark and not knowing who or what touched you. All the time. All the goddamned time.

I can't stand it anymore. I've got my brother's .38 Police Special. It's funny, I can hear him saying it all important, like when he brought it home. "Police. Special." Like you could hear the capital letters. Once in a while it moves just a tiny bit as They poke it, touch it, stroke it. Get your fingers off it, you creeps. It's his. Mine. Not yours.

I like how it feels. Like a machine, all cold and dead. Like I'm going to be shortly. Like it's going to make me. That way I won't feel the touching anymore.

Its funny. I used to ask my boyfriend to touch me. I'd lean over and let my blouse open up, let him see my tits, ask him to touch them. Open my legs and ask him to touch me. He died four days ago. Walked around the safety thing at his work and right into some kinda machine. Tore him to bits. How could I have ever wanted anyone anything to touch me? I'm bruised all over. The painkillers don't even make me sleep anymore. I'm tired of waking up screaming, tired of waking up feeling fingers tentacles whatever They have touching me all over, mauling me, hurting me. They say they know how to stop it. That's bullshit. All I got to say is they'd better hurry up before there's no-one else left to help.

I lasted longer than you by four days, Steve. hah.

Yeah, I Hope you live. I hope you find this, you Turd. I hope you read it. You and your clever ideas about finding God. I bet you didn't know God had a million billion fingers to push and prod and grope. I hope you like being touched, you fucker.

I'll see you in Hell.
B.

14 comments:

Nancy Dancehall said...

I. LOVE. This.

Oh my Gawd. All my mythology bells are going off. The veil between worlds, between Creator and Created. Cthulu. Pillars of salt. Everything.

And the little references -- the soup kitchen. Beautiful.

Irrelephant said...

I'm thanking my lucky stars and garters for you, Nancy. I've spent the day watching the hit counter go up and the comment box stay empty. I was terrified I'd overstepped some line, missed some important sigul and gone way off into the wrong landscape, gone and offended every single reader I have.

Whew. Thank you! *grin* *big hug*

Maggie said...

well i love it too. i'm not often into dark though i find myself more and more sucked in by it in all kinds of forums. yours was wonderful - new.

Irrelephant said...

Oh thank you Maggie! *g* I think I'm feeling the October People around my shoulders is all, but I'm so glad you enjoyed it!

Jean said...

Well now.
This is one of the most disturbing things I've ever read.
Pandora's Box creepy.
I wish it wasn't 2am and dark and quiet.

Very well done. Definitely not your usual voice. Possessed.

*shiver*

Clowncar said...

Well, that certainly rocked.

Creepy. I like creepy (and I've had that feeling too where I've written some fiction and then worried it was too dark).

There is a great tension between the enormity of the things happening in the world and the small-mindedness of the person telling the story. That's probably my favorite thing about the story.

But there's also the deep creepiness of things touching you that you can't see. And the image of things rippling, moving, tearing. Very Lovecraftian, except for the voice of the narrator, which is all you.

Nice.

Nancy Dancehall said...

I agree, Clowncar. I love the way the narrator is still so wrapped up in her own life. It seems 'real'; I think if something like this actually happened, a lot of people would think and sound this way. It's 'realistic' this way, and that's what makes it so dark and gritty.

More! More! *s*

mickelodeon said...

I'm glad the sun is shining in through the windows right about now, because if I had read this in the dark of night, I would be just a wee bit more creeped out than I already am.

Irrelephant said...

Jean, that's a fair way to put it. When I decided to write it, it came upon me as a full idea, front to back. What I had to do was make it Not Me. Make B a real person who was dealing with a terrifying reality. I guess I should have put a "Daylight Read Only!" caveat in there, too!

Clowncar, thank you sir for both the compliments and the reassurance. I need both. *S* Almost Lovecraftian, eh? I'm QUITE touched, I have to say. I really wanted to make a sense that I hold in very high regard a negative thing, a think that couldn't be borne anymore. B's small-mindedness and simplicity were just outcroppings of me trying my damnedest not to be me, and I was afraid became almost hyper-simplified and comic-book big.

Nancy, I'm glad that came through. I wanted her to seem...not young but...average. Still fully vested in herself rather than anything else, while around her the entire world falls into chaos and desolation. More? Whew. I don't know if I can stand the "OMG what if it's terrible?" feelings! *lol* I notice more than a few of my regular commenters haven't sounded off yet, which is an interesting and not altogether pleasant feeling. *S*

Yup, next time posts like this are definitely getting a "Not Safe For Dark" warning on top. *lol*

Vulgar Wizard said...

Wow. That was interestingly disturbing. Makes me sad/angry for "her".

Mona Buonanotte said...

Wow. That made an entire movie in my head. I love stories like this! Tres bien!

Irrelephant said...

VW, I'm not sure what exactly I was trying to get people to feel for her, honestly, so it's even more interesting to me to hear what you guys feel about her predicament.

Mona, I was worried I'd lost you on this one, hadn't heard anything from you over the weekend. *whew!* I can feel how it could easily become a full-blown story, a novelette maybe, following B through the leadup to the LHC mistake and so forth, but I think I like it more like this--a short, sharp shock rather than a prolonged lead up.

Jean said...

I hope you don't think I don't like this...because, I DO. very, very much.

Sometimes we need to feel uncomfortable. Makes us look over our shoulder. And wonder :-)

Irrelephant said...

I didn't think you disliked it, Jean. You're good at saying what's on your mind. *s* I'm just not wild about frightening you half to dead in the middle of the night!