In the beginning there was darkness, and that darkness gave birth to life.
Alan had it all. He had the good life; a girlfriend, friends, a job he enjoyed, hobbies, the ability to travel, and the ability to waste money on things he didn't need.
The more you have the less you become.
To live life, is to live dangerously, but all Alan knew was the comforts that society had bestowed upon him. His life was like a theme park ride; on the rails, all set out for him. He moved from one part to the next effortlessly, as if lifted by unknown forces. For him it was just how life was. He wasn't especially creative, or intelligent. Everything just went his way, and so it was understandable that he looked down on other people, who he considered failures.
"They choose that lifestlye. They just need to put in some work. They're lazy. I work for a fortune 500 company. They just need to get a degree and apply. They probably got useless degrees. Homeless people are all drug addicts. Poor people make that lifestyle choice. If you truly want something you can get it. Poor people just want to smoke cigarettes and drink booze. People with no friends are probably creeps. It's the unemployed and anti-social destroying society. They just need to get a good job and keep their heads down."
Alan had led a life of relative luxury, but when you compare yourself to what you see on the TV, your relative luxury seems like poverty. He took everything for granted, and not once felt truly grateful for what he had. It was always about the grind... going to work, socializing, ticking boxes and achieving life goals. That was his life, and it had weakened him. He could not perceive the lies upon which his worldview was founded.
Anne was just a thing. His girlfriend, a part of life. As was his job as a computer analyst. His friends were just characters in his story. It was all narrative. Carefully constructed story. That is he how lived, but not how he died.
And yet if I do judge, My judgment is true; for I am not alone, but I am with the Father who sent Me.
It was after a Bejazoot gig. Kyle was upstairs at the Crab N' Nest, wearing his classic velvet military uniform he would wear for gigs, with his saxophone quiver over his shoulder holding his saxophone "Deathwish". He was at the outside smoking area, talking to Chris and Ryan; two other members of the band Bejazoot. Chris was the drummer, and Ryan played Bass amongst other things.
Chris and Ryan left to pick up some drugs from nearby; something to smoke for later on.
Kyle stood alone, in the shadows, smoking a cigarette.
Alan, Anne, Steve, Mark, and some others were at the other side of the smoking area, talking shit. Steve the wonder gun had two ladies around his arms. His jazz piano was always on fire, and it drew in the women of the night, like moths to the candle flame. Mark was like a cardboard cutout, just meat to fill the room, they probably wouldn't notice any difference if he was there or not.
Kyle listened in, as Alan berated the scruffy old street person, who had previously come into the bar, and asked everyone for change, before being asked to leave by a member of staff. The homeless person wasn't there in front of Alan being berated of course. Alan was merely berating a version of the person he wanted to see. He took cheap shots, and threw low blows, as the group laughed and hollered at the stinky trash man with his yellow crooked teeth.
That was all that human was... a pile of garbage, something with no value, a nuisance, expendable, unwanted, trash.
In this moment, contempt was born inside of Kyle towards his "friends".
What deplorable disgusting views and behaviour they have. Have they always been like this? I'm just seeing them now? Was I only seeing them how I wanted to before? Like how they see the street person?
It was all fucking narrative and story. Kyle began to question over his life, and what meaning there was. Had he been living a false narrative? Was there a higher truth?
No one lights a lamp and hides it in a clay jar or puts it under a bed. Instead, they put it on a stand, so that those who come in can see the light.
Not long after, Chris and Ryan came back. Kyle tried to drop his thoughts of contempt, as he began socializing with the wider group. He didn't really feel like he fit in, but he was mostly enjoying himself... so was that enough?
When the Crab N' Nest closed, they evacuated the bar. Outside was the street person from before. Kyle watched as Alan walked past the street person, who once more begged.
Alan said "sorry" and other meaningless trite empty words.
Something broke inside of Kyle. All because Alan didn't mean it. Even as he made eye contact with the street person, his words were insincere, and full of lingering venom, reserved for nuisances... for trash.
...
Kyle left the group without saying anything, and went home alone that night. On his walk back, he couldn't stop thinking what the fuck is wrong with this world? What the fuck is wrong with people?
"Excuse me? Spare any change?"
Kyle was startled and looked over at the street person. It looked like the scruffy old street person from before, but he wasn't sure if they were the same person. Had he been followed?
"Oh sorry... I barely have enough for myself" Kyle explained, before decidedly handing over some of his earnings from the gig.
"Thank you, Bejazoot!"
It must have been the same person from before.
"Yeah that's us" Kyle smiled.
The street person, suddenly lunged and grabbed Kyle. His breath was unbearable, like a dead rotting animal.
" Bejazoot! He's coming!"
The street person let go of Kyle, and wandered off as if in a fugue state.
The rest of Kyle's walk home was uneventful, other than a surprising number of people calling out Bejazoot to him. The band was finally beginning to make it big.
Kyle smiled a devil's smile as he said to himself "Bejazoot's coming!"
Chapter 1 - Deathwish
Chapter 2 - Screaming with No Mouth
Chapter 3 - Nazi Babe with a Cute Smile
Chapter 4 - The End of the World
Chapter 5 - The Dead Streets
Chapter 666 - So I Flipped the Board
Chapter 7 - I Could Feel Myself Changing
@RiskDebonair
Irish Writer, Poet, & Agent of H.I.V.E.