I did not know his name but I knew his smell far too well. This sad drunken clown propped up beside me had a scruffy beard and rotten teeth. A self-proclaimed man of wisdom and a mad towering figure of law and order…
Among his possessions, a wine bottle with no label…
Its contents dripping down all the worn-out wooden surfaces and its lingering dank aroma clogging up the air; he always held the bottle close to his chest.
It wasn’t always like this, my current living arrangements were a recent manifestation. I once occupied a large room full of space, music and floorboards.
My canvas was attached to a pig. Occasionally, the pig would move around the room whilst oinking, making it quite difficult to paint. As I tackled my artwork, Layla would sit next to the window and gaze upon a small cactus…
“A hero of antiquity floating along a river of hamburgers… The path he travels is uncertain and endless, but at least, it is an enjoyable path.”
The painting represented everything I was experiencing at that moment.
Layla briefly smiled at me one last time before refocusing her gaze upon the cactus. For the past few days, she had seemed quiet and distant. In retrospect, it was as if she had been burdened with the knowledge of what was to happen next…
Reality suddenly disintegrated and I found myself staggering through the darkness. I was completely alone. The painting I had been working on earlier was soon damaged by the effects of the war, but I continued dragging it around (along with a few of my other belongings) since it seemed rather important to an odd sentimental part of my mind…
My activities during the war became fairly typical. During the day, I would upload drawings of monkeys to my blog. The drawings were met with a mixed response…
Occasionally, I’d look up at my earlier “River of Hamburgers” painting hanging on the wall, and then I’d look back down at my current work and realise that my artwork hadn’t changed in the slightest. Monkeys or humans, it did not matter. They were all the same.
On Saturdays, I would spend a few hours reorganising paperclips while sitting inside a small cardboard box. Overall, it was an actual proper job with exact systems and protocol. There were set times for things and irrational objectives. Usually I was encompassed by several layers of management designed for optimum paperclip arrangement. However, each manager had their own ideas about the position of the paperclips.
Once a week I’d watch as images of bacon were projected onto a large screen. This was part of a morale building war-time initiative and it was absolutely fantastic. I saw some great pieces of bacon on that screen. However, despite my distractions, there were always moments of anguish.
I sought kindness and support from my small group of friends, but they were already busy dealing with their own individual garden gnomes. As the darkness spread throughout reality, I was powerless to halt its destruction. Each day presented me with a new set of slippery banana peels. It was around this time that the drunken clown had materialised…
Somehow we became connected, and as civilisation fell apart around us, we decided to go into hiding. The war raged on outside as we spent the next few years locked up in this small void together. As months flew by, we reluctantly adapted to cupboard life. For a long time I accepted that this was the best possible solution and I was prepared to sacrifice everything meaningful in my life for this practical level of security.
Of course, in my heart, I knew that this was not enough…
I swung the cupboard doors wide open and leapt towards freedom. However, before I could take another step, I saw her…
The apparition had disappeared.
The End
Honey Badger Mountain 