Atenolol: Remember Me?

Hi.

I’m Alex.

Remember me? 

I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.

Sometimes even I don't remember me.

There are times when I have a hard time computing the fact that I'm a real person. A human being of flesh and blood, not just a paper creation of another being. It means that I am, and I alone, am the force responsible for my successes and failures. I don't know if I'm ready to handle that just yet. Or maybe I'm not. Maybe that's just what the masses want me to think. After all, aren't we created by our surrounding? Fed and nurtured by the concrete of our homes and the blood of those around us?

....

In the time that’s passed since we last spoke, I tried to add a bit of flair and sweetness to my life; you know balance out the sour an overwhelming dread. Unsure of what else to do, I make a buttercream icing and then masturbated with it. It wasn’t wholly unsatisfactory, I admit. Perhaps a whipped cream icing would have been better. A baker I am not. I’m not sure why I thought this would be a good idea.It sure didn't give me the sugar rush that I was looking for.

....

I’m sat on a bus heading to the shopping centre and the old man next to me smells like a tropical beach. He literally smells like Kokomo and it’s almost too much for me to handle. That's when I see her. She's got the smallest constellation of freckles across her pudgy cheeks. She's stuffed herself into a pair of black jeans at least a size too small for her and I see everything. I love it. I’m both hot and cold at the same time. I think I’m going to explode. I feel these unfamiliar sensations building up in my organs and their surrounding tissues. I don’t know what to make of these sensations as they sweep me away. I know she's got a secret, hidden in her thick wavy hair and I'm dying to know what it is.

....

And here I thought I was an alien. I crawl out onto my fire escape and drink in the city lights as I light up a joint. I inhale the congestion of angry taxi drives, sneaking teenagers, horny housewives and bereaved bankers in addition to the pot smoke. And in the blink of an eye, all of us will die. We will all become memories to the wind, scattered among the stars of the air and the mass of the Earth. And it doesn't matter if its 10 years, 15 years or even an hour from now. It all ends the same. Whats the point of reading a story or watching a film when you already know how it's going to end? Maybe it's not about the ending, but the journey that leads you to the end? I dunno. Maybe the sun will just keep on burning. Maybe it will never burn out. Maybe it will burn out tomorrow. All I know for sure is that I'm looking forward to the end of the world.

....

Voice in my head whistle as she walks by. I didn’t think that it was possible to become drunk on human, but I’m pretty sure that I am. I love the warm brown colour of her hair and how the sun highlights little amber-red bits. The mysterious allure of the dark circles under her honey brown eyes drives me to the brink of insanity. I don’t like these feelings. She’s got complete power over me and I don’t even know her name. Bus Girl. I’m ready to sing and dance for her. These…thing things are feelings, I’m sure of it…I want them to go away. Can I will them away? If I wish for something hard enough will it come true? 

….

More screaming. I don’t know how I’m expected to deal with all of this. It’s sort of like living in a perpetual migraine. Maybe if I killed them all, I’d be able to enjoy the silence for a little while. Is it louder in prison than it is in this house? The walls only seem to magnify the sound of the neighbour’s arguments. I don't understand why anyone would build a housing structure with walls like this. It's not just their arguments I hear. I also hear their screaming children and every time his bitter wife fakes an orgasm...Every Thursday night. What kind of a life is that? Sending your kids over to the mental cat woman's flat (where I can still hear them btw), have a cheap, flavourless takeaway and then 10 minutes of unsatisfying sex? I don't think I could handle it. Then again, he's having sex and all I have is my right hand. Perhaps I should take my hand out on a date?

....

I did take my hand on a date. It was the cheapest date I've ever been on...that's not saying much, seeing as I've only been on one date before that. I don't think she liked me much. She didn't want to sit next to me at the cinema and every 15 minutes or so I'd have to reach over with the popcorn bucket so she could take a handful. I paid for that too...I didn't even like the film. Before I could try and steal a kiss from her, she stomped on my foot called me a tosser and demanded I give her money for a taxi because I didn't drive and she wasn't the kind of girl who took a bus. I'll never understand what I did wrong or why she said that because I'm pretty sure she did take the bus to the cinema. Looking back, I think she just wanted to hustle more cash out of me. Handy and I went to the Park and to the Natural History Museum. We both like dinosaurs. After about an hour or so of cruising the museum, she slid into my pocket. I'm not one for girls who put out on the first date, but Handy and I have known one another a long time..almost since birth.

....

I lay beneath the blade, the moment of pure trust separating me from death before me and I’ve never felt calmer. Sometimes I worry that nothing or no one will be able to help me to escape the endless peril that is my existence on this planet. Then I remember how fragile life really is and I can take a breath. Sometimes its good to be me. I can feel these things like no one else can. I can fracture and send my consciousness to dwell between the molecules that make me, me. Let me dream a dream where my glow stars come and tickle me. Let them serenade me into the dark navy blues of slumber and scare away any demons that may threaten me tonight. As they hum a slow, sappy tune I think of the chubby girl and how badly I want to have her hand in mine. My closed eyelids see every inch of her. My mind is like a film projector and she is the move on my eyelids. The stars glow yellow-green above her and I feel myself fading away from the waking world in the calmest of sensations. 

....

Despite my active, sometimes too active, fantasy life, I’m not really into sexual fantasies. Truth be told, I’m not that into having sex. The mechanics of it confuse me and it just seems so…annoying and unhygienic. All those fluids coming and going out of all these different places. I wonder why reproduction was engineered this way. It seems like a lot of work and mess for something not all that rewarding. A baby. What kind of reward is that? Most kids aren't even wanted. A lot of them grow up to be corpse fuckers, arsonists, or the worst of the lot, politicians. I don't think I could ever bring myself to unleash a mini-me upon the world. I don't think I'd like it.

....

It’s 4 in the afternoon and I’ve been woken by the sounds of pots and pans banging in my kitchen. Good lord. My mother. who else? I groan. I hear her voice float up the stairs. It sneaks in and stabs me in the stomach, right where I’ve ached to stab her before. Please God, let me close my eyes once more and let the life be sucked out of me by the same miracle force that propelled me into this existence. Three, two, one. Close. I breathe silently under the duvet, sucking it into my nose and mouth. Nothing happens. I exhale.