Warning: if you suffer from depression, I recommend you skip reading this. Really.

Fireworks are exploding, somewhere. It is new year’s day.

You lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, pondering the futility of getting up to start another day.

This is the year in which non-believers like you get to laugh at everyone else for believing the world would end when it eventually doesn’t, except that it did. For you, it already has.

You blink and that simple action seems to bring forth a torrent of unwanted memories you strongly attempt to suppress but seem unable to any more. You just can’t deny the fact that suddenly the world seems to no longer have a place for you, that you are now constantly on the outside looking in, that you are some awkward old wallpaper that is slowly peeling off and will one day disappear without a trace.

Nothing you own is really yours. The bed you lie in, the duvet keeping you warm, the clothes you sleep in, the pillows you rest on, the slippers you will wear to walk around in the flat you live in… Nothing is yours. Even the things you paid for yourself.

“Your time is your own.” Well, fuck that. You have no interest in your time because you aren’t going anywhere. You are unable to see beyond the next minute, and therefore unable to see the point of it all. Incapable of believing that there is a future for you that you need to prepare yourself for, you instead totter forward because that’s the done thing. Because you are afraid to make it stop.

You are afraid that someday everyone will discover the charred lump that is your blackened heart and reject you. You fear it has already happened.

Your greatest fear is fading away into the faceless, mediocre masses and you step out of bed determined to not let that happen, full of resolution. One small step for you however is a giant leap into the seething hell-fire pit of mediocrity that has threatened to swallow you up all these years and you realise you are right back where you started, in that bed you do not own; and that is where you stay, forever.

Even the fireworks eventually stop.

Happy new year, everyone. Since everyone else seems to be ringing in the new year with sickeningly positive thoughts and hopes and “New Year, New You!” slogans, I thought I’d give all of you a taste of the other side. Y’know, just to balance the saccharine out. Maybe this way, this year won’t be as big a waste as the last one was.

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head (YouTube)

Happy Halloween, everyone! Here’s a story to entertain you – unfortunately, so as to not miss the party, the prose is rather under-dressed. Call it nihilism and delve in.

***

London on a rainy October evening in the late 1860s – dirty, dark, diseased and dangerous. Alone, a man carrying a small box turned into a dingy alley, the cobblestones whimpering dully under his heavy boots. A single candle burned in some window above. The man sighed softly and stopped, patting his vest for his key ring. He stepped towards a small door set in a small building with a boarded up shop window and an old sign decaying away that had once merrily announced “Lockby & Son” to those who cared.

Benjamin Lockby shut the door behind him and slowly lit a few lamps. The flames shed an eerie, trembling light on the occupants of the room. It was as though a massacre had taken place – eyes, noses, limbs, dresses everywhere, the strange glow giving them a sort of half-life. It was a puppet-maker’s shop.

The Lockby family had been puppet-makers for many generations, but disease and death had forced them out of business. Benjamin had been forced to take up various odd jobs to maintain a trickle of income, but for many years now he had been in the bookkeeping business at old Mackay’s and had begun to save money. He had always dreamt of surpassing the Lockby name, and he did have a startling talent with voices. He had hit upon an idea for a wholly new type of performance, where he would have a dialogue with his dummy, and his dummy would participate as if an entirely different person. Perhaps he would make it funny, as well.

Benjamin reverently placed the box in the middle of his workstation and removed his coat. He pulled back his shirt sleeves and loosened his muscles like a conductor limbering up for his concert. He carefully removed the lid of the box and sighed softly once more. His gaze was fixated by the two delicate little emerald-green shoes nestled carefully amongst all the protective paper; he moved to touch them but jerked his hand away, as if not wishing to soil them just yet.

Across from him sat Elena, pretty and petite in all her wooden glory. Elena, light of his life, fruit of his labours. His work, his soul. He hadn’t yet dared to give her voice, waiting to complete her first. She would be his masterpiece, the magic that set him apart from those hacks that surrounded themselves with mediocre toys and called their cheap parlour gimmicks ‘skill’…

He worked till the early hours of the morning, sandpapering her little body and making everything just so. He fell into a fevered sleep and ended up late at his workplace. Mr. Mackay was mildly irked but understanding. Benjamin caught up on his assignments and stopped only when Merry Mary informed him that lunch was ready.

Mary Mortimer was the resident everything at Mackay’s. She took care of cleaning the office and preparing lunch and tea for the gentlemen that worked there. She was wonderful in that the organised chaos at Mackay’s would come to an absolute screaming halt without her gentle ministrations. Benjamin was deeply in love with her despite not managing to convey even a single coherent sentence on any day.

That day, Marvellous Mary paused a little longer than usual at his desk.

“Pardon my forwardness, Mr. Lockby, but is anything the matter? You don’t look very well.”

Benjamin was shocked out of his frenzied working. Magical Mary was looking at him with concern and he responded with great difficulty.

“I’m only tired, Ms. Mortimer, it’s nothing to worry about. I shall take my lunch now.”

Mysterious Mary gave him a lovely smile and almost looked like she might say something more, but never did. She left quietly. The remainder of his day passed by in flash. He was usually preoccupied with thoughts of Elena these days.

Benjamin returned home – the little flat above his father’s shop spoke volumes about his existence. He was meticulous about keeping his craft work limited to the old shop. So, although his flat seemed disorganised, it was never dirty; a small 1-bed affair, the only embellishment to an otherwise minimalistic appearance being an armoire belonging to his great-grandmother. There were no mirrors anywhere. Dinner was a simple soup he made that, from the smell of it, would keep another day.

He rushed downstairs to Elena. He tempered his pace at the last minute and attempted a mask of calm. He walked over to Elena, placed those dainty green shoes on her darling feet and helped her sit in a comfortable position. He arranged her hair to fall on her face just so, and placed her hands on her lap.

“Hello, Elena.” He sat back and waited for a response.

“Erm, hullo?” It sounded like a girl had swallowed a bullfrog, but it was a start.

“How d’you do?” Best to work out the pleasantries first.

“Quite well. I like my new shoes.” It wasn’t entirely smooth, but he had to do a female voice and then throw it to Elena, after all. He had been practising so his b’s and m’s weren’t bad at all, but the voice was still quite rough around the edges.

He worked through the night holding an awfully dull conversation with Elena, trying to get her to speak just as he had imagined she would. He was quite tired and fell asleep at his table. When he woke up, he wasn’t quite sure whether it was yesterday or tomorrow; it certainly didn’t feel like today.

At work, Motherly Mary asked after his health and he confidently engaged in a conversation with her for all of five minutes, at the end of which he was incredibly exhausted and begged leave to eat his lunch. He was trying to finish his work early so he could leave to practise with Elena. He had not told anyone of his little hobby for fear of someone stealing his idea, so his colleagues just assumed he had a secret rendezvous planned and nagged him about it all day.

Benjamin entered the shop. He was surprised by Elena.

“Why did you leave me?”

“I had to sleep, and then to work. I came as soon as I could.” The guilt wormed its way out of his stomach and into his mouth.

“What would you like to talk about today?” Elena asked, with only a hint of petulance. She seemed to sense his apology more than hear it.

“Everything, Elena. And nothing.” Benjamin’s heart was racing. He knew it was happening – this was the camaraderie he had envisioned, the first step towards developing a perfect act, towards making him famous beyond his father’s name and this city and–

“Let’s go upstairs, it’s cold down here.”

Benjamin woke up. He was sitting at an awkward angle on his armchair, Elena draped alongside him. He did not know what the time was. He checked his old pocket watch and realised it was half past noon and he had missed half a day of work. He rushed to clean himself up and sprinted to old man Mackay’s, running into him just as he was stepping out.

“Ah, Benjamin, how kind of you to grace us with your presence!” The old man was certainly in good spirits if he didn’t immediately begin barking.

“Forgive me, m’lud, I was very ill and appear to have overslept. I’m terribly sorry, I shall stay late until I finish with everything–”

“Look ‘ere, Lockby, this is the second time this month I’m letting you off, and you better damn well earn my generosity by wearing your fingers down to the bone, you understand? I’ve got to rush to meet a fellow about something now, so I’ll see you tomorrow, and you better be a damn sight more punctual than this!” With that, he dashed off, tipping his hat to Mystery Mary as she walked into the room.

Benjamin could not bring himself to face Mundane Mary, partly out of some incomprehensible sense of being at fault and partly out of a lack of interest in engaging with her, so he strode over to his desk and began scanning the papers for any urgent work he had missed.

It was late evening and Benjamin was hungry as he had missed lunch. He ate a quick supper at the nearby pub and was on his way back, mostly preoccupied with a nagging balance on Mr. Caulder’s books. He suddenly looked up and saw Morbid Mary walking across the road. She noticed him and turned to walk in his direction, and was promptly run over by a horse-and-buggy.

The crowds walked unfazed; the horse went mad and ran wild. A few people ran towards her fallen body, including Benjamin, but it was immediately apparent that Mary Mortimer would never breathe again. Benjamin backed away from her body in shock, his mind unable to comprehend the events that had just occurred, and he looked around disoriented. He caught a glimpse of someone running away in emerald-green shoes, and nearly screamed. He blinked his eyes rapidly and looked again, but saw nothing.

Benjamin somehow got home, as he could no longer stand the thought of going to his office alone with memories of Missing Mary. He was plagued by doubts of what he saw, or did not, near the accident. He wondered about the previous night, about what had happened that he had overslept till past noon the next day. He wondered how Elena had gotten upstairs, since he never took his work to his flat. He suspected a slackening in his grip on sanity, but soon wrote it off to exhaustion.

He got the candles to light the workshop lamps and nearly dropped them when he felt hands on his ankles. Only slightly shaking, he lit a flame and saw it was only Elena. As he set about clearing the mess in the workroom, he idly recalled Elena being on the couch while he had dashed madly to work. Perhaps he had just unconsciously brought her downstairs.

Benjamin shrugged away the nagging feeling that something was wrong and went upstairs to his bed. There, he fell into a fevered sleep, peppered with the strangest visions. In the midst of it all came a clearing, all of a sudden – he was lying down on a very crunchy patch of grass near a stream, and next to him was a wonderfully elegant creature, a young woman, lazily draping herself over the green carpet, as if an ornament. The sky was shimmering and the water was still.

“Isn’t this wonderful, Ben darling?” She turned towards him yet he could not discern her face clearly.

“Who are you?” Benjamin asked in a tremulous voice. “Where am I?”

“I am everything, Benjamin.”

Benjamin slowly made out the clear outlines of Elena’s unnervingly human face. A part of him recoiled in shock and horror, yet a different part was fascinated by her fluid beauty. He was unable and unwilling to tear his eyes away. Would his future be this amazing? Would it really be like this if his dreams came to life? Elena seemed to sense his troubled attraction and touched his face as she slowly dissolved into the air.

The rest of the night appeared to crawl by, as it was still dark when Benjamin awoke. He dressed hastily, uneasy at having to stay at home alone for much longer. He dashed through the streets like a man on fire, hardly conscious of where his panic was taking him.

He reached a bridge where he saw Elena waiting for him. Somewhere in the corner of Benjamin’s mind, his sanity was screaming from inside its ice-cold cage. This is just a doll, it repeated, it can’t hurt you. But all Benjamin could see was that mad glint in Elena’s eyes and his dreams and wishes in an all-consuming whorl he was steadily being sucked into, deeper and deeper, as his feet took him towards the edge.

Meet Bill, our 32-year old hacker, introvert and shameful coffee addict. Bill’s last foray into the world of socialising was tragically interrupted by a prank. This event would seem to be an ordinary occurrence to the audience, but is injected with great meaning and loaded with trauma for poor little Bill. The only living beings he now has actual contact with are his cat, Ms. Snuffles, and the occasional delivery guy who brings him sustenance he orders over the internet.

In a seemingly innocent chatroom, Bill has just stumbled onto a secret so great people only know its name – The Matrix. Since he has absolutely nothing else to do with his time, Bill goes around searching in every possible forum, “What is the Matrix?” Someone replies with, “Who is John Galt?” This sends Bill manically searching for “John Galt”.

“John Galt” must have been a codeword for something, as Bill’s computer is now flooded with pictures and articles of some terrorist named Morpheus. Before his brain can freeze in fear that an international terrorist appeared to have gotten past his firewalls and was attacking his computer with pop-ups and *gasp* pop-unders, he feels the inexplicable urge to sleep and promptly passes out on his keyboard.

***

Bill is kidnapped on the one day he helps his landlady take out her garbage. A strange orange bald, or balding, man with two full-headed cohorts is talking to him in a poorly put on German accent. He appears to be speaking very slowly so Bill can understand him, but all he hears is some mumbling about a star, a ring and some broken sword. He cannot stand the torture and begins screaming. The clear moment of realisation in a lucid dream strikes him, and he wakes up. Damn, too much coffee before bed again.

***

While searching for “John Galt”, Bill had serendipitously made contact with Trinity, who was famous for having cracked the IRS d-base. He sets up a meeting in an out-of-the-way club to pick Trinity’s brains, but is instead met by some leather-clad chick that knocks him out. When he comes to, the only thing he can see is his reflection, covered in pock marks. It moves, and he stares into a pair of eyes buried in the bald head.

“I imagine that right now, you’re feeling a bit like Alice. Hmm? Tumbling down the rabbit hole?”

Bill feels he’s done a lot of tumbling, indeed. Lulled to sleep by some interminable speech the man was giving, it was some time before he’s roughly shaken awake.

“Damn, I forgot that people who have just met me tend to fall asleep due to all my plot exposition. I’m not called Morpheus for nothing. Here, you can take the red pill to give you immunity, or the blue pill to forget you ever met me.”

Bill is about to reach for the blue pill when he remembers the leather clad chick. A different head begins thinking for him, and he hastily swallows the red pill instead. And promptly feels a world of pain, and blacks out.

***

When he wakes up, Morpheus is staring at him intently. Before he can say, “Where am I?” Morpheus launches into more plot exposition that puts him to sleep again. He vaguely recalls being referred to as “Neo”, and tries to tell Morpheus he’s got the wrong guy. All that comes out is a snore.

***

A large-bosomed nanny is giving him a cookie and telling him he is waiting for something. Damn right he was waiting, he wanted a glass of milk but this “Oracle” person didn’t seem to get it. Also, he was still a virgin and hadn’t found “the right moment” to tell Trinity about his crush.

On his way back, he sees a black cat and realises how much he misses Ms. Snuffles. He should’ve really had that milk, he thinks, as Morpheus takes the fall for him while he is whisked away to safety by Trinity.

***

Bill realises the gravity of the situation and decides to mount a rescue operation.

“We have to save him, Trinity, he’s the only way I can get any goddamn sleep around this place!”

Trinity is a stubborn bitch. “I’m going with you.”

“No you’re not, you’re a woman I have a secret crush on and I can’t let your behind get too small from running your ass off.”

“My butt is big enough for three people, Neo, that’s why they call me Trinity. Oh, and I’m your boss, so you can go to Hell.”

“… Excellent! But you keep getting my name wrong, dammit.”

***

Bill channels decades of video game manoeuvres, telling himself it was just a virtual reality program. He had, of course, slept through Morpheus’ speech about the mind making it all real, as the red pill hadn’t fully kicked in yet.

This brave move gets Trinity saving his life and looking at him adoringly. Bill can’t take the sexual frustration anymore and unleashes hell to save Morpheus, just to hear some more plot exposition. Just as they are leaving and being chased by that German elf (again), Trinity tells him that she has something to tell him. Man, these people were long winded. But maybe he’d finally find out who this “John Galt” guy was, it kept bothering him.

Too late, as Mr. Elf attacks. (He looks strangely pale now, but continues to be bald.) He tries running his ass off, but his tushie’s too small and he can get only so far on it. He’s shot and is dying, thinking forlornly of how he will never get to have sex, but he suddenly hears Trinity’s voice tell him she loves Neo, and to get up.

Bill is heartbroken as he realises Trinity loves the idea of Neo, and not Bill himself, and feels so angry he opens a can o’ whoop-ass on Agent Schmidt. Or was it Smith?

He wakes up from the Matrix just to yell at her, but is promptly smothered by his first real kiss. Hey, what guy can say “No” to that? Morpheus was staring but damn, those pills were good at keeping him up.