One Dead Soul

I’m going out again. Out to the streets and the heart of the city. My earthly possessions are awake and the very walls of my apartment quiver in deceit of reality. At times like these the only thing to do is to slide on my brown suede shoes and descend to the world outside, hoping that serenity will set upon my home once more. Serenity like virgin snow freshly fallen before I interrupt its purity with feeble fumblings and the blusterings of age.

But first, to the bathroom and the cabinet that contains sturdy pyramids of small blue bones. As a reluctant force of habit I open one and take out two oval pills. Devilish capsules that blind me from the truth that’s always just out of eyeshot. Only recently have the finer details started becoming ever more focussed and the shadowed enemies become eve r more closer to being exposed in the light once and for all.

Outside. Where they live. Yes, where they wait all right. God knows I won’t let them dictate my comings and goings, allowing them a free reign to place an eternal curfew on my very mentality. I can’t hold them at bay now in my twilight years. Not like a few years previous. Well, more than a few. I’ve been keeping them at arm’s length for so long now; always one step ahead, always too shrewd, too smart; calling on all available resources to outwit them day by day. But as I’ve grown older and slower, my defences burnt back like a cigarette, they have made their advances and gained valuable ground. They are truly resourceful in their own way, and it is surely only a matter of time before they engulf me finally and totally.

A quick and urgent surveillance of myself in the hallway mirror before I go. Comb over my reluctant grey hair into place across my brow, adjust my round-framed glasses and sigh deeply and heavily. It is a ritual I must undergo before every venture in to the outside. Trying to reach into the reflection and shake some vigour into the greying shadow of a man staring back. Slide free the safety latch, top and bottom, pull across the chain, cursing my over-zealous security measures and thinking how any escape from this place I needed to take would inevitably be foiled considerably. But I remind myself of the nights I rest easy in my cold and lonely bed because of those measures I ensure I take. Close my door and glance around all furtive and aware. I allow a surreptitious peek into the next flat’s front windows as I stride along the concrete balcony to the stairwell. They arouse my suspicions immensely since I hear and see nothing from them. There are dirty dishes mountainous in the sink which is a fairly conclusive indication of human activity but it could be used as a dirty squat-house for all I know. It’s too quiet, too secretive; they could easily be agents working for them. Watching me, hearing me, like a spying parasite working to bring down its weakened host from within.

I make it down the grey, piss-stinking stairs without seeing a soul and inhale dramatically upon setting sail down the street. These roads I have walked a million times, flanked by dour offices and lampposts that are re-ignited and re-painted with the ticking over of the years. I’m sure only I notice the change. It’s coming on for midday and yet the streets are close to desolate. Which suits me fine and yet would yield no witnesses to the horror that could befall me at any time should they decide to make their move. A light drizzle develops from the miserable overcast sky and I zip up my snug overcoat, hugging it round my frame. One of the pills I swallowed dry feels like it’s stuck somewhere in my throat slowly melting whilst refusing to slide down.

I’m only taking a short 10-minute trip to the shops, the same I take each and every day as my exercise in mental vitality, but already as I start to pass mothers patrolling with prams and young men striding along dragging heavily on smokes, the rumbling dragon of doubt in the pit of my stomach starts to ignite my nerves. However much I may attempt to silence those concerns in the sanctuary of my home, out here I am exposed to my foes and have only my wits on which to survive. I twitch subconsciously as the trees I pass by shake with sudden wind. Look up into the thick branches but nothing – just dancing leaves. There’s a man in a tight-fitting suit coming strutting down the pavement towards me, his eyes forged into mine. He is set on this collision-course which, if he is one of them, spells my end. But no – at the last moment he answers a call on his mobile phone and looks over his shoulder to cross the road. I continue on my course. Almost at the shops. Nearly there.

I’m here at the shops. The comforting inner bright lights a masquerade for the siren-red danger it presents to me. All eyes appear to revolve around to focus on me as automatic as the doors that part on my approach. I bend in the foyer and stiffly fumble to remove some discarded plastic bags from a carrier basket before moving on down one of the aisles. I take a deep breath and place some apples into my basket, trying to calm myself and slow my beating heart. This is a routine; I walk to the shops every day, buy strictly the same items, and attempt to allay my anxieties. I scan the bright cavernous ceiling to stare right back at the cold robotic eyes that are fixed firmly on my from above. Clinical reflections in aisle mirrors and pale yellow floors. My nerves jangling in time to the muzak of the shop as I throw a tin of tomato soup into my basket.

A small boy dashes round one of the fridge cabinets chasing a sibling and runs straight into my bony knee, banging his head of floppy blonde hair. We stare at each other for a second of mutual surprise before he erupts into volcanic tears as I exclaim “bloody hell!” and the young mother responsible for such tearaway offspring appears, summoned by her baby’s cries. She is dressed in a tatty tracksuit, fat and unkempt from the trials of child-rearing. Taking the boy in her arms she looks me up and down as I growl “keep your little brats under control”. Her mouth distorts into a sour portrait of scorn and says “fuck off you stupid tosser” as she steers her children away down the aisle. I am in considerable distress by this point. A scene has been created with me directly at the heart of the commotion. Whereas before staff and shoppers alike were discreet with their sideways glances at me, now they are openly glaring; not afraid to let me see them doing so. The mother and child, more than likely working for them, provoking a ruckus from which now I wheel around in the centre of the main aisle, lights burning into my weak brain, drop my basket to the ground with a clatter and make a break for the doors and the street beyond.

Several shoppers step from hiding in the aisles out into my way with their trolleys, acting as if by accident, as I spiral in a half-jog past and through them, turning down the pet food aisle and through an empty checkout towards the exits. Two tall and spotty shop assistants in lime green uniforms glance at one another and attempt to move in to block my escape but hold back at the last moment with faces of concern as I tear out of the doors and into the brisk breeze of the day. Behind me I hear an announcement over the tannoy system and whilst I’m unable through the sliding doors to pick it out discernibly, I’m quite sure it will be calling for calm within the shop and a regrouping of forces.

My eyes are darts cast this way and that as I quicken my pace as swiftly as me aged limbs will allow. My body may be withering under the straining of the years but my mind is more alert and acutely aware of their powers than ever before. I am a slave captive inside a weary cage. Back home I retreat, I must now survey my own options for surely I can no longer visit that shop on a daily basis. I had become too complacent in routine. Another notch of solitude for my existence. Solitude stretches far behind in my wake; been alone for so long. Retired for 18 years - at the time I was so desperate to retire early I could hardly wait; within a few weeks I was going out of my mind. What of my family? None to speak of. My sister died of a mystery virus almost a decade ago. I was so sure that it was their doing, their way of drawing me in, luring me closer by extinguishing her. Her only daughter married and emigrated with her family to Australia years ago; she viciously accused me of irrational delusion when I tried to make her understand the reason for her mother’s untimely passing and vowed never to speak to me again. How many years since I went with a woman? Too many to count. Too many nights of cold wasted spasms into tissue paper, so devoid of emotion and soul-destroying. Nowadays I masturbate no longer, the same way someone who is disgusted by their nicotine habit finally kicks it into touch when they can no longer justify it to themselves.

And for what?? Why have I been isolated by this virtual house arrest for so long? It’s all a mistake. All those years ago, I didn’t see a thing. But they thought I did. They still do. Even if I had seen things, they’ve long since been contorted and eroded from my mind by the stress and fear of harbouring them and of them trying to track me down to eradicate them permanently. I saw plenty of things in my job, maybe I was a little too inquisitive, dug my nose in a little further than I should have. But I was bored and unsatisfied in my career and the idea of digging up dirty treasure was too much of a thrill to resist. It took them a lot of time and effort to work out who the troublesome mole was and by that time I’d rushed into retirement and vanished.

I went into hiding and have been hiding ever since. But I’m eternally aware that they could be anywhere at any time. Lurking in the bushes I pass, waiting in dark cars at red lights, waiting, watching, moving in. I got rid of my phone for I was sure my calls were bugged, ignored the little family I had – those that weren’t ignoring me anyway – and mostly tried to ignore the devilish capsules that my doctor prescribed me. More than likely under the orders of them as well; feeding me drugs to wear me down. Well, drugs or not I am slowing and wearing down. I cannot hide forever. For soon they will smoke me out of my hole and strike in a vengeance that is ultimately misguided but there will be no reasoning with them. They will offer no mercy and I shall seek none. But at least I will be ready for them. God knows I have been ready and waiting now for so long.