And here, for your convenience, I post the story that you can read it without having to download the PDF-file.
Enjoy your reading!
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To be. Nothing at all. A quick glance at this and that. Unknown.
***
I'm John. No, I'm not an alcoholic. Although, sometimes, I wish I were. Friends you can drink together with, and drawn your sorrows, are now the most seldom thing in the whole world. Because now one has to be strong. No fear. No mercy. A tough guy. I'm not. The weak, the freak. The one to kick.
Do you mind opening a window? I never do, I don't care. But people do. Finding a problem where it is not actually being planted is the thing they do most often. The Utopia is gone. And only the falling dust of memories and images is left, and covers the ground to hide the truth. Forgotten. Dangerous one. The one that needs to be dead. But, sometimes, things have to burn to be alive again.
I'm John. That's good I remember my name, even that nobody has called it for a very long time. Or, maybe, somebody has, but, due to a tumult of today's world, I haven't heard. If it was you who called my name and I didn't answer, I just want to say that I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. You probably do not believe me. Many people say they're sorry, although they even do not understand what it means. But I am the one you can trust. At least you can try to do so.
You know my name. I do not know yours. It doesn't matter. I know you anyway. Because we are all the same. We are all driven by a desire to be powerful. The strongest. We want to win, we want to show off. Achieving the goals that are supposed to make us happy, whatever it means, and, very often, whatever it takes, is the most time-consuming activity of ours. Yes, it is right. I do generalise. But it is now harder and harder to escape generalisation. And globalisation. Now everything is the same. And people believe it is that way. One thing that seems to be hard for them to understand is that we are all people. The same species.
Or, maybe, they understand this. And that's why they try to eliminate the weakest elements. I admire those who can differentiate between the strong and the weak. If we are all the same, there is nothing we can be compared with to divide human beings into subspecies. We all have feelings, rights and the same goal: to live freely with no pain and sorrows, with the sense of being equal. Is it obvious for you? Is it not? Congratulations. You are in the group of the strong ones. That will be the time you will eliminate me. But there will be also the time I will come back. And you will be not strong enough to escape my revenge. Though it is so humane.
***
That is the only picture of you that I have. You remember this situation, don't you? In the park? With me? Cuddled together? And you with your head on my shoulder. No? Nothing? Don't you have any memories of this? I do have a lot. Do you want me to share them with you? Catherine. And brown eyes. Mine are blue. It was a very nice mix of colours. But, perhaps, you didn't like it, as you decided to play with my feelings. Without warning you killed the vivid picture of you that I had had in my mind, and strong emotions that I had been chocked with all the time before you suppressed them. It hurt so much. I wasn't prepared. I never am. Do you remember? You said I am never prepared. What did you expect me to do? What was the matter with you? You seemed to be surprised by this question of mine.
'With me? What's the matter with me?', you were scarcely whispering.
'Is it any?', I whispered back.
'Are you kidding?', the tone of your voice said that you really thought I was an idiot.
'I am deadly serious. What's wrong with you?', I still remained calm.
'That's the question you should ask yourself every single day.', that was the sentence you said a little bit louder than the other ones.
And with this statement you left me. So many questions, hardly any answers.
Do you remember this letter of mine that I sent to you at the time you walked away? I do still have it in mind.
Opened eyes, closed soul
to know – unknown.
You drift, you stare
to be – unfair.
The way, the doors
to pass – who knows.
And I have lost my way home.
I want, I wish
to have – mawkish.
The day, the night
to fly – I cry.
Recalling the moment I have tamed impossible. The fear.
And you are nothing to be in this non-being state of your being.
The words. Will they help me to recover? Will the pain ever disappear? Or, maybe, there is no pain at all and it is only my sick mind that makes me die every night, because everyone does when he's sad and angry at everything about nothing. I used to think that it is a kind of punishment. I still haven't discovered what I am being punished for. In fact, I do not care, it doesn't matter. It seems that I have to be punished and it is no way that it would change in the nearest future. What makes me upset about this is that I do not know whether I am to suffer to the end of my dog's life or there would be a moment, a miracle, a twist of fate when I would be granted a reprieve. I have never met a judge who I had been given this sentence by. No possibilities to explain. No chance to defeat my dignity. Do I, at least, possess it? I feel I do. And until I am myself, it is the only thing nobody can deprive me of.
***
'When?', he asked again with anger.
'Father... I, er... ', a pause.
The dark inferior of a confessional. I sweat a lot, my legs are shaking. I know I'm a sinner. The bad one as I am supposed to be as a believer. But what's the point in making it even worst by talking about my sins with this man in black who wants to be called a priest?
Yes, I believe in God. I believe in the power of His that gave life to me at this very bad moment in a history. No, I do not hold a grudge against Him. I do appreciate. I do follow religion. The problem is that I do not have the long list of sins that I can point out to Him. Can't I just talk with Him about things that make me sad? Can't I simply ask Him for help when I feel I'm losing my faith? Hope. Love. Where am I to find all of these? Give me answers to my questions and I'll pay you back with my relief and ardent soul that will not be a doubting one any more. No sins. The only one I can think of is weakness of human nature. But it was Him, who made me like this. It's not my fault He wanted me to make mistakes. Everyone does. So do I. So do you. So does this man who wants me to pray and repent my sins.
'When was the last time you were in a church?', another question of His, asked with the usage of a middleman between God and man.
The light. The flash in my mind. I'm talking to Him. He is here. I'm not alone. I am, He is, we are. He is and He knows me. He gave me a sign to follow. Forgiveness.
'Father, I confess', a quick, quiet cry.
And then I felt free. Liberated. The hands of God caught my heart and threw all the sins away. Painless. And then the feeling of love, fulfilling my whole body, appeared. Warm, hard. I came out, laughing hysterically. The sounds of my steps on the Gothic floor. The echo was lauder and lauder. Resonating through the church, it went to meet its Maker. My sins did as well.
***
The dialogue. The kind of conversation.
'Hello! It's nice to see you again, Jack!'
'John.'
'Oh, yes, I have a cold. You know, germs are spread all around now. But, tell me, how are you?'
'I'm fine, I suppose.'
'That's good.'
'What about you?'
'Oh, yes, thank you. Everything is all right.'
'Doesn't it only seem to be?'
'Pardon?'
'Never mind. I was absent-minded for a moment.'
'You didn't seem to be.'
'Nothing seems to be.'
'Nothing seems... what?'
'Don't you worry about the weather?'
'No, I do not. It seems to be nice weather today. I rather worry about the elections. You know, the future of our country depends on it.'
'What does our future depend on?'
'The elections.'
'Not decisions?'
'Your election is your decision.'
'Then, what is my decision based on?'
'You can base it on whatever you like.'
'Can I?'
'Yes, indeed.'
'So I will choose. I will decide. And I'll base my decision on whatever I like.'
Sometimes it is a good idea to listen to the voice of conscience. Your very own one.
***
On this bridge I stood a few moments ago. Now, there's only a way down for me. Awaken as I was, I had another glass of whisky. The dream.
I was John. The world that was being watched through the bars of mental asylum.
Schizophrenia.
