The Post-Apocalypse Club



“…Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.”
Ecclesiastes 1:2 Holy Bible

“As a knight guards his castle gate, so one must guard one’s mind from outside and dangers inside; one must not neglect it for a moment.”
The Teaching of Buddha, Bukkyo Dendo Kyokai

“Well, if Armageddon’s on, I suppose one should be there.”
Rupert Brooke, Letters from America

“That doesn’t make sense to me, but then, you are very small.”
Treebeard, Lord of the Rings, the Two Towers



Chapter 1

Deceptions Origins

Once upon a time, before clichéd starts to novels, before chocolate milk could be added to chocolate cereal, before the first organism to ever kill another was even a twinkle in the eye of some replicative, mechanical structure, there was an atom. It wasn’t the biggest, or fastest atom in the universe, but that didn’t really matter to the atom, which could not contemplate such things. At the start of the universe, the atom didn’t have its own ideas about its creation, although at some point it may exist in several biological machines, which would have their inklings. They would speak of invisible pixie-like things, with magic power called gods. They might point out that creation was not a rare event, or that it doesn’t actually make too much difference to us how it all started, unless we needed to escape or alter the universe for our own future survival which might require such knowledge.
The atom whizzed away from the beginning of the universe, holding hands with its atom friends, spinning around with them. Back then, life was carefree, because due to the laws of physics, that had just been defined, everything was controlled by determinism. The atom raced towards a certain, predefined location, as a dragon through the sky, portending an ill omen. That place was a chunk of rock, which it would not leave for quite a while for there were many symbolic journeys to endure. The atom was part of the first complex molecule that could copy and replicate itself ever to have been created. The atom smiled at its fortune and looked around to its new atomic friends to find credit for its actions. The smile quickly faded when the atoms complex connections were destroyed and thermodynamic equilibrium was once again reached, a bolt of radiation splitting the atom from its newfound friends. The atom presupposed that radioactive beaches weren’t really all that great for starting long term relationships with other atoms, and decided to go for a swim. Whilst this was happening, somewhere near the pole of the planet, in a water droplet, another few atoms were creating a replicative structure that continued to copy itself, mutating and growing in complexity with time. At some point in the future, this atom would be part of a thought that this chronology of events was very organism centric.
The atom danced from reaction to reaction, as part of an elegantly orchestrated dance, one that was choreographed at the start of universe, by the laws that created and defined it. The fate of this atom was far from over and if it had foresight, what a path of interactions it would be!

A spec caught in the eye of a velociraptor,
The tip of a Paleolithic hero’s spear,
Part of the enzyme that would first try to degrade the active ingredient in the first magic mushroom to be tasted by the first human to ever dream of dualism and chance. What a bad taste in the atoms allegorical mouth!
Passing on the vibration of a Goth battle horn,
In Helen of Troy’s left nipple from the years she was fifteen to twenty-two years old,
In Hassan ibn Sabbah’s beard hair,
The blood spilt by ninja,
The second lowest section of a cavern to be struck for iron.

All that excitement and spinning had made the atom nauseous and dizzy. It turned around to take stock of its situation and noticed that it was part of an antenna of a dust mite, burrowing into the eyelash of a female humanoid. The way the mite was nestling into the follicle made the atom feel cozy and warm. It wanted to ponder that the human was just a large mechanical device, on which other, less complex, mechanical devices were living. It wanted to tell someone that humans are to human cells what the Internet is to the mind. Do humans look like they act as one hive mind to a planet-sized organism, much as ants do to us? Anyone that has seen human cells knows that they look like they have their own agenda and act individually, as could be said about each individual human in relation to the human race. The atom wanted a human to see how much like a planet they look to a mite, or how much like a solar system a cell looked to an atom. The mite, right now, was mining a resource of dead skin cells, devouring another mechanical object to sustain its own functions. The atom would muse that if a human does not look sentient to a mite, then perhaps humans are indeed not sentient and are just large planet like objects populated by millions of human cells. Due to the predefined hunger of the mite, the predefined availability of the food resource, the predefined size of its antennae and their predefined strength, the atom was thrust asunder and happened to land in a warm, dark, gaping hole. It had not seen such a tentacle in a diamond mine before. The atom would scoff at the allusion the mite was trying to make to an eyelash and the crypt of dead cells that surrounds it.
Two weeks later, the atom found itself to be inside the tip of a neural stem, passing along the message that a female vampire was viewing its latest host machine as a rare oddity, or at worst, as an intriguing supper. She was doing this from beyond my paisley curtains, awash in the gloaming light. The atom, being only a figment of the host’s mind: that would be me, was created as an intellectual exercise to distract myself from the ancient and honed vampiric hunter outside my window.
I lie here shivering uncontrollably, trying not to open my eyes; fanciful distractions of atoms cannot help me now. The dread beast has its pale, iridescent, motionless face pressed against the window. She breathes solidly in jest of the life it once led. No condensation forms on the window. This being is as cold as the night itself. All is lost. My eyes open and the vampire staring at me from beyond my blinds has gone. Now, the only things that catch my attention are the usual: the hung night robe that looks like Death, waiting for me by the door and the Television screen, which is a lighter grey than everything else is, even though it is not on standby and I haven't watched anything today.
I reach across to my lamp, through the thick shadows, not scared of the dark but what lurks within it. ‘Please don't let anything grab my arm,’ I pray, to no god in particular. The light switches on. It burns and confuses me. Yet minimal light is justified. What I trick myself into thinking, is that I am safe from things that might exist. What I start to remember in the light, is that I am a student of science with an interest in philosophy, futurism and that which lies beyond our human selves. I know that it would be highly irregular for multiple mutations in genetic coding to create the vampire I imagine is outside my window. ‘What compounds are souls made of?’ I hear you ask. They would be a mass of electrons, quarks, neutrinos, noodle-like strings and matter I am sure of it. Not that it matters to the vampire, as they don't have souls anyway, thinks the little insignificant mass of atoms that is me. What am I on about? Why can’t I just go to sleep at night like normal people?
The name placed upon me is Ill. I would say ‘Hello, nice to meet you. The name is Ill’. Names have a masked identity to me. Are they to remind you of who you are, or to remind others? Powerful things, names, which is why I can tell you: Ill. That is what they call us isn’t it, commonly abbreviated from Illuminatus, apparently. I can tell you, Ill, because I can trust you a bit more than most other humans. But enough of this, I am stuck in a situation I cannot get out of. What is new then, Ill? You always want to get ahead with ideas of immortality and enhanced intelligence but have no idea whether you will attain them in a possibly deterministic universe. Although, if your actions stay the way they are, you will just end up like an unnamed character from a computer game, just populating the city and waiting for the main character to come along and talk to you. Yet, in my existence, I am the main character of the game that is life. Action needs to be taken, I need to increase in complexity as a dissipative structure, but first it is sleepy time. ‘Click,’ television off, ‘click,’ lamp off. This time there is no need, or a continuing dalliance of seconds to be spent thinking about vampires that blatantly do not exist.

***

Can you daydream at nighttime? Can you fill in the gaps in the storyline for someone who has only just started listening to your thoughts without making it blatantly obvious that you are doing so? If so, these are what I am doing now.
"Ah." I sigh, how the wondering mind strays from its path. The Prime Minister: I can't believe his audacity. The people won't brook the emergency powers he is making use of; there was no referendum. Where was his backing? What almighty pressure group, what unseen minority forced this upon us? It was probably a religious group or the monarchy. No, the monarchy is too feeble. It could be Aum, the French Grand Orient Temple Masons, or the Bavarian Seers. Why is he trying to take full control? How can he do this? What will become of me? Ill, I'll fade into the new society and become stuck there. Why can one man rule over so many? Why can’t that be me? ‘Yes, I know I am a hypocrite but I really am Ill, doctor’. In this dreamworld, the words hypocrite and hypochondriac are the same, funny things dreams.

***


I awaken. ‘Good morning, Ill!’ A good day to live I am sure, but it is not my choice. I have already had my path chosen, the same as everyone else, action and reaction, my temporary set of atoms’ reactions to the start of the universe. But what was the first action? The 'Big Bang' was an explosion of inevitability. There was no other way but hard scientific determinism, or so my current dogma of thinking goes, obviously alongside a large dosage of plasticity. Well, either everything is predetermined and so we have no free will, or everything is random on every scale and so we have no free will or choice, either way, let’s just say I am a determinist.
If gods, or a creator race, or even good old Mr. Middle-Eastern-Spin-off-Pagan-Sky-God created the universe. Who exactly created them? How did they come into being? Maybe it was as simple as there was nothing, not even space or dimension, then: ‘Hi, I’m God and strangely, I exist nowhere and everywhere and can speak perfectly good English. Right… I also look like a white human although I haven't created them yet. I haven't even created the concept of days, so I can make them on a set date. First though, I think I will mess around with some dinosaurs, for fun, after creating the solar system, but I won’t tell the humans about them for no reason in particular.’ Or maybe it is all too complicated even if I used more than ten percent of my brain. We are only mortals, only mammals, only machines. What's the use, then, of carrying on? I hope for things pick up soon, as a life of inconsequential arbitrary events, even if completely pointless, is still something if not entirely tangible or memorable. This lousy, illusory life is still apparent to me and therefore holds a small amount of worth. My body, no more than atoms, in the architectural style of a human not uncommon in this part of the universe, my actions chosen by my personality, which is partly genetic, giving me lots of choice over such matters, and partly environmental, lots of choice for me there too. When I mention genes, I mean all hereditary material and when I mention environment, I mean everything else that you come into contact with and perceive. From every conversation with every person to every television program watched, to everything you try to ignore to everything forced upon you, to everything else you do because of these things. ‘Oh but what if you moved somewhere else, so the environmental stimuli were different?’ A non-believer would say, trying to maintain that they have free will, and that the law works because everyone has decisions to make, and will suffer the consequences of the actions that they could choose to perform. Well I would only make any choice because of who I am which is a physical factor and subject to the physical laws of the universe that control it ,this includes the mindless replicative will of my genes and what has happened in the past which led to me, which is environmental obviously. Additionally in an environment that is overpopulated with humans your environment is also partially a genetic factor as the other humans’ genes dictated their actions. Homo sapiens! Pish!
My genes and environment, and everything that caused them to be, is guilty for my crimes, there was no other way it could have possibly happened in this version of reality, my version of reality: the only version, all else is a delusion. So we all have a part in causing every crime that occurs.
The kind of fate I wish existed, is the kind of fate consisting of strands of events that could possibly happen weaving through each other and multiplying over time, in a kind of ‘many worlds’ reality. I like to think I already know my path or at least choose my path at random. Choosing something at random, can you do that? Well that is the only way I could believe in free will, whereby if on an atom level my actions are random but those atoms are mine, then something in me is making a choice based on something, perhaps. That is what I have to believe sometimes, as having no free will sucks and is deeply shocking and morose, but everyone knows that, that is why we all have our own personalised lies. But for me this pondering is just pandering to the fanciful part of my nature that I have not, as of yet, quashed as. The alarm clock rings: “Beep-beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep.”
I always wake before the alarm, and staring back at the Batman alarm clock I see that it is 6:59 AM. ‘Get up, man!’ There is a hot shower and a bowl of yummy chocolate flavoured cereal waiting for you.
The shower was good but there wasn't any chocolate cereal, only cinnamon flavoured, square shaped biscuit-like things. And the milk was semi skimmed, not full cream and not chocolate flavour. Bastard, thieving milk pixies! Anyway, my dogs are dead and have been for a few years now. I am prompted to remember this by their obvious absence, such a good start to the day. I don't know what I'd do without them, I had said. Probably like I do with everything else, forget and then not care, and then care sometimes. Our fickle human emotions, they're so predictable, so futile. Even when a dog would be the most fitting for my friendly post-apocalyptic adventuring I still care less than I should.
Back in a second, I have brainless stuff to do. Well, I call it brainless, yet I spend a good fifteen minutes deciding what I shall wear. The T-shirt with a squirrel on, the black baggy jeans, the trusty one-armed leather jacket that I made myself to copy Mad Max, these are what I wear. How I am perceived by the masses of mortal flesh depends greatly on what they see. They would see a slightly muscular, medium built male with a small chin beard and a long dark red mane of hair, which is dyed red; it’s not ginger-just to make that clear.
I have been told at some point earlier in my education that it is Saturday today, as it was Friday before hand. This is good I am told, as I have a whole two days to myself, free time to do with whatever I want with my free will. None of these statements are true they are just popular lies that everyone accepts and that no one seems to question, it makes everything so much easier. Lack of knowledge does that, but I want the power of knowledge and this, my life, is my quest to find it and use it to my advantage.
For now, I have to buy some food and something for myself. Being a student, I will probably go somewhere cheap to get my food, taking into account that my parents believe in making one’s own way in life. This is an excuse similar to converting to being a Jehovah's Witness just before Christmas time in terms of being generous with present buying. My parents tell me this, whilst working as lawyers in Switzerland; they are away now, even as I speak to myself. They are probably at some conference, or fighting for the freedom of a criminal, or preparing to divorce. I leave my cluttered room and head past the crowded, shared kitchen, I don't know these people, and they don't want to know me. I look towards the floor, trying to avoid their gazes and trying to unlock the door, then I walk back to check if I have locked the door to my room. You can never be too careful or too sure about anything.
As I walk past the gothic, tree sprinkled, university campus, I notice all those who conform, who walk on set paths, dress uniformly, and those walking on the grass with their long leather trench coats and uncut hair. I blend into this crowd of polar opposites, my appearance conforming to somewhere near the opposite of normal. It is only my mind that is a different case entirely, a basket case to be precise, and even then it is composed of exactly the same compounds as lesser minds.
Stepping out of the crowd of misfits only when I reach the local shopping centre, I marvel at the range of goods on offer, and similarly the bodies of those displayed around me, which I also marvel at. I marvel at how there are so many thousands of these sprawling, fleshy women. I find it sad that they choose other men. I am not that bad looking, having quite stern features that are both youthful and manly, and I seem to be one of the most intelligent people I know, and I only know clever people. Maybe they feel threatened, maybe they need it pointing out, or maybe I should just pick up my tins of fruit, instant noodles, cereal and the ever-indispensable tins of all day breakfast and spend even more time in solitary confinement, which I tell myself is good for me. I would probably hate them all if I got to know them anyway.
I get some more random items, jelly, a flan base, some celery and a giant cookie and head to the checkout. Whilst I am waiting, as is the annoyance of these supermarkets, I remember my plans for tonight, me and my fellow peers, no - contemporaries- in the Post-Apocalypse Club, we are going to a club that Edwin recommended. Ed is my best friend and my wise mentor as far as technical knowledge is concerned. He is a loner by habit, yet how can a man in shades, a cowboy hat and a trench coat turn down my first greeting of 'Hey dude, I'm that crazy guy that you have never talked to before!' So from then on we have been close, however much he resents me for reasons I may later dwell upon.
"That will be eight pounds fifty please," came the voice of the cashier. I hand the money over, struggling to find the fifty pence piece, then not bothering and giving her a twenty-pound note hoping to better her slightly with a bit of mental arithmetic.
"Have a nice day." she chirped. What a barbaric American phrase. I choose not to live in America for a reason. ‘Keep on spending’ would be a much more effective slogan. A free market is definitely the way to go if it worked like it should. We would have cheaper commodities, plus no one would go to war for the current soldiers’ wage if everything was valued at more logical costs. Lives are worth so much. Sports teams should be paid a soldier’s wage and soldiers a sports star’s wage for being prepared to face infinite non-existence. That would make a cool book, the humans paid millions of pounds to go to war versus humans who did not care about their lives and fought for a cause that was important to their society.
I walk away. Now, where was I before I was interrupted by other people? I was discussing those who are close to me. Alice is my dreamy, somewhat over opinionated girlfriend, who has a better heart than I would want. There is also Jon, who can only be described as the one who seems to constantly wear something that looks like samurai armour, covered in a cloak made for people with pointy ears. I don't question this because I know how good he is with a composite longbow, and that as he is super lawful, if a god existed he would be on Jon’s side.
I'm sure the compact disc shop is around the corner, it's about time I was there. I need to purchase some new music for when they come round. Music gets old fast, memes get old fast. That's the benefit of the indiscriminate sounds of classical music; with no words there is less to get bored of somehow. Although I love any powerful, Teutonic symphonies, but they just do not inspire hatred and strength like the hard, overwhelming lyrics of heavy metal songs. The bass guitar vibrating like a giant earthquake, with the drum beat counting down our destruction, what great entrancing melodies that rend the soul and preach the truth with a voice from a face so enticing. Frederic Chopin eat your heart out.
I walk back home after I’ve found a couple of compact discs that look original, one has the a vampiric skull smirking at me from the cover, the other a couple of warriors hacking at each other and bleeding in their death throes. Thinking another route would be more interesting, I walk through my local park, the plants supplying some much needed oxygen to make my happy little energy molecules. I always will have respect for those who bore me and those who help sustain me. Whether I find the genitalia of flowering plants beautiful is another argument completely, which is why I always avoid buying flowers for Alice. Flowers just seem a bit sinister to me and remind me of female circumcision.
Back at my lodgings I ring everyone to see if they can still come out. Alice points out that it isn't her scene and asks why I did not ring her yesterday. Even though it was Ed's idea to go out, he seems reluctant; we meet at 7:00. Jon lastly said that he would find it a pleasure to be associated with us and politely invites himself an hour earlier as he has no other friends. I should love him dearly.
Whilst waiting alone in my room, I do the assignment that is in for Monday. It is on comparing information from two bacterial genomes. I'll get most of it done by the time Jon gets here and I did get some done, I was lured away from study by an enticing empty bed, which I lay on for a while. Oh the dull drumming beat of life, the boring monotony of this reality, the agony of wasted time.
A peculiar torrent of knocking sounds from the door occurs, which is Jon, I suppose. I look through my spy hole to see a distorted version of a mystical looking warrior with a tidy ponytail and a gleeful yet worried expression, as usual. I undo the many latches and bolts and welcome this pleasant stranger into my midst. He enters in the way you expect him to, in a few nimble movements he is de-cloaked, his bow rests in a corner next to my sword collection and he is sitting on my bed. Of course, he nearly stumbled over my notebooks on the floor, but I fell over them before too, so I did not want to mention it. The mind is a funny machine, it focuses on the strangest of details, sometimes it is overactive and at other times it is as still as you can let it become, such as when someone tells you that 'it'll be alright in the end'.
"You have not been to our society this week, my friend," Jon points out, "neither to the Muay Thai boxing or kendo classes." He pauses, "I thought you were pretty good with a sword or two, you are better than me." A compliment, I will accept, even if it was meant to be double edged with his disappointment. Jon is insecure and I need him to acknowledge himself as better than others if he will ever be of any use to me. After all he is handsome and clever, plus he is the most romantic guy I know, considering I don't know anyone else who delicately kisses peoples’ hands and writes them sonnets.
"Indeed, I am an adequate swordsman, yet against a sword master or anyone with a gun my talent is forfeit, aye, that's the rub, ‘tis a shame,” I say, not quite sure as to whom I am impersonating, I think I just become more traditional when Jon is around. “Your bow is much more useful." I thought I might as well respond to him, and repay the compliment for Ill is not that evil.
Jon looks pleased as he speaks:
"You are too kind Illuminatus." I hate that name. He is the only person who calls me that. “We did not do much this week at the Post-Apocalypse club,” I can see his eyes light up, “except for my radiation detector which came through the post for the coming apocalypse. We watched Escape from L.A. and taught a couple of quick lessons in hotwiring cars and lock picking.”
“Cool, I should have gone.”
“Yeah, seeing as are the societies president and founder. What were you doing anyway?”
“The usual,” I say.
“Sleeping,” he says. I do not answer for it is more simplistic if no one knows.
I have not seen anyone lately as I think we need a lightning storm, I feel something is building up, that's unusual for me as I know that there is no foundation to this lunacy, but I want to hide out and start preparing for the apocalypse anyway. I also feel that it is more than complicated reactions in the sky, I could be wrong. I am in a state of unrest. If something bad happens later, I will worry because of what is wrong now. This would point towards my ninja intuition being correct which is a scary concept as it cannot be so, for intuition is a false concept and I am no ninja. The sky and humidity mock me, it is if an artist were trying to get some sort of emotion or mood across by referring to the weather.
"I have had a lot of work to do this week; you know how it catches up on you." I throw out some words, not as a barrier of lies that I must believe, but instead because I do not want to alarm one of such a high and breakable spirit. He respects me like no other, for that I take care of him.
"Since I have not been to kendo lesson this week, shall we train whilst we wait for the others?" I want to tell him a lot of things, tell him about what I feel, tell him...This is all forgotten as a warm, burning feeling erupts in my chest and stomach with the notion of a fight in mind.
“That sounds jolly good." Jon says and smiles, as if he believes his own words.
He now must become my enemy, for he has to become someone else in my mind so I can beat him. We pick up our hard wooden swords that Freud would have something to say about and go outside to a grassy knoll next to the canal. It is exceptionally cold today, England usually is.
He is using an advanced twin sword technique, more options, less power. I use my ninja straight sword with a traditional samurai technique, it is more of a challenge and there is more irony. I had quite slow reactions when we had first started training and he used to beat me constantly. As of late, whatever weapons we choose we usually end up drawing. Occasionally, one of us wins now and again which we both reminisce on to learn from our failures and our victories.
I square up, as a ninja might who was spotted by a shinobi of the rival Shogun. Of course, we are both about as good as a low ranking samurai, nothing more. Our country constricts us, as it blinds us; it only has use for weak, diluted, mindless people, far from what we all used to be. I remember the cliché of Darwinism 'only the strong survive'. If something goes completely against the way it is supposed to be, does that make it quite unnatural? Perhaps, if you are a small minded traditionalist. That said, I have a fondness for the past; life was always closer to a natural state, closer to intimate combat, closer to the battle that begins now.
I think about each move before performing it, my mind clears of all else. I can feel the blood pumping ‘round me faster, it gushes into the muscle of my arms, soaks me in its energy from within: pure ecstasy. He gets the first move diving into a spin, coming at me like the destructive path of a whirlwind. I respond by edging back and waiting for his front to show. Next, I leap to the side of his starting position whilst he has his back turned making an extended blow with my sword facing backward, to his soon reappearing neck. I would have cleaved his head off, he would have slashed my stomach, in which case we would both be dead. Nobody has clave anything for too long. I will have to try and remember not to die when I complete an execution of this move in a real combat.
We line up again, this time Jon is searching my face for clues as to what I am going to do. The reality is I only know my action just before it happens, strategies are too inflexible, an overall plan is better, my plan is to not to be hit. This time I get the first move of the turn, but not of the game. I move my knight two spaces to the left and one square forward. This time I deflect his first blow, strike down at his neck and just manage to deflect the second blow that was soon approaching my own neck. I drop to the floor as if he had stuck me, in disbelief of my success, I won. In life it is all about winning.

I win or else I die.

I will now sully this victory by reminding myself that I just beat an English literature student, not a member of an army or anyone with a submachine gun.
Jon helps me to my feet and seems pleased to have helped me improve my technique. "Congratulations, my esteemed friend! If you used those metal replicas you have, you could actually be a real menace to society."
I start to laugh hysterically, unable to stop myself, I recede back down to the floor in a swathe of uncontrolled emotion that reminds me I am mortal, this harsh reminder hints menacingly of my failings and those of others. Jon starts to laugh, but he does not know why, or perhaps he does. The look he gives me is one of someone who knows he will die, but knows that it is noble to die for something that is fitting. That is why he hates modern war poetry that states all war is loss. Jon escapes from this into the worlds of books where heroes are real, appreciated and respected, as he should be.
Ill sees a figure watching him from a distance, I can't make out who it is that is watching us so intently, but I know who it is, it is her. She is one of the vampires that wearily stalks my existence in her bourgeois, Victorian gown and French lace. She toys with me, mocking me for her sport. She walks up to us giggling profusely. Jon does not happen to see her-a product of an arcane vampiric power that she is using, I am sure. My instinct tells me not to make any sudden movements, or acknowledge her presence, maybe she will go away, I should not believe she exists. If she had read the same books as me, perhaps the vampire would disbelieve in herself, which I am sure would lead to self-esteem issues.
I can do nothing but start to laugh; a tear runs down my cheek and strays down to my collarbone. My eyelids start to twitch along with the muscles in my jaw, this always happens when a stress is applied to me. I need my mouth bar; I refuse to take medication because my heart pattern is too irregular to take anything with a calming effect. As she brushes her brocaded silk gown against my manic body, I hope that she will not devour me, though this hope is soon dashed as I find that immortal gift excruciatingly enticing. Yet, my hope is sadly confirmed as she smiles at me as if she is my mother. Opening her pale lips, the object of my obsession reveals four sharp, curved fangs, readying her mouth to articulate words: "Little one, purest son of my Cain, the immortal. You are begotten of sin; you must live forever, or else defy thy God by rotting like no one else. You are sin by your very conception, you who has no soul."
And I wanted to enjoy tonight as well. However, after hyperventilating for a while I find myself staring up at familiar faces, they are discussing what I was trying to tell them about a vampire guardian and a god that has spurned me. My quest for eternal life now seems very much more real than I had at first thought; I mean what the hell was that all about.
After greeting Ed and caressing Alice, I lie, I tell them I am fine and need some time to get ready. Alice wants to stay and talk to me, she always thinks she can help, but I use the word ‘please’ and kiss her like I mean it to clear the room of all those eager souls.
Think, Ill, think! Process the important information, maybe read into some of it, but be quick as you need to get changed, they are waiting. For a start, heaven and hell might exist more than before. I also seem to be related to Cain, who must have existed, who must have had children in Nod, or after the flood, he was marked, I do believe, so anything is possible. In addition, what does a vampire know about any of this, does she exist? Her association with the events described is shrouded. I open my wardrobe wide and peer into the darkness for anything suitable. I thank my atheism driven cynicism and inquisitiveness for making me read the bible, for now it might come in useful.
What I find is a full-length black trench coat, with embroidered fleurs-de-lis, it is plain, but I turn up the lapel, the felt coat suits me, I think. I have no need to find comfort in the originality of garments though, I like to think I am somewhat original.
The club Ed had chosen was East Of Eden, he said the tables were coffin lids and the waitresses were made up to look like zombies, whatever you are into, I suppose. I feel as though life will unfold the answers, that I am wearied to find inside my own head all I have to do is wait.
I smile as I leave the room, if only because Alice worries about me far too much, she should not, I would not bother if I was her, because I think I know what I think of her. They have been talking about me, I can tell this as they have all made their minds up about what just happened. Ed will think I was attention seeking as he does. Jon will have a genuine concern and want to believe what I tell him. Alice just wants me to be who she wants me to be; she wants me to be a good-looking version of Ed.
"Hello, sailor! Are you okay? Are you all right?" Alice says, being the first to speak, she nearly starts to laugh as she does, I am not sure that she understands. She does not understand me or the reality in which I reside. Her laughing is stopped short by the look I give her, one that could slay a really big monster that was vulnerable to particularly nasty stares.
"I am as fine as someone is who is continually dying, except a bit worse, did you have fun?" How the hell can Alice not understand the simple truth of rotting in the earth? I dismiss the vampire’s words, whether wisely or not, until I have more proof, I cannot understand the ignorance of fact and probability that Alice's religion asks for.
Alice and I get into my wreck of a car, a black Stingray 69’. I begged my father to buy it for me for my last birthday. This is what I spend most of my student loan on, but neon under lighting and a decent sub woofer system are essential, I told myself. I pump up the volume of the compact disc player ‘to the max’, as you could say. The compact disc already in the player is telling me to hate someone because they lied to me, that things will never be the same. I think they also want me to slash someone's ass with a chainsaw, but I pretend that it pure metaphysical conjecture, taking from the music what I will. The singer seems angry as he roars his basic message to those who will never actually take heed of it. Alice does not talk, as my driving skills are actually not something to be desired and distracting me may be fatal. The others tail me in Ed's white Transit van. Yes he did buy it to fit in with paedophiles and serial killers.
***

Our cars slow and park opposite the club, which is near an industrial estate. A few shady characters lurk in the smoky light that spews from the doorway. We leave the cars at the same point in time, congregate in a line, and walk in near bullet time for dramatic effect, that was my idea. If I studied our appearances I would see Alice's cat ears first, balancing perfectly on top of her gentle, her welcoming face, then her black rimmed glasses that she wears to make herself look pseudo intellectual. As she is my girlfriend, and has been for as long as I care to remember, which is not that long ago for most people. I should give her more description and I shall, she had slight knock-knees but they were fixed, and she also has a small hearing aid, basically a load of genetic faults, yummy! Jon's 'I heart Dungeons and Dragons' fancy dress appearance strikes me as very different, if not disturbing and Ed looks like a demon hunter from a comic book, I just look weird. So overall, our appearances are not deceptive.
I watch the few other figures intently; it is hard to find my real vampires in places like this for there are so many charlatans and fakes. Alice reaches out and strokes my hair, I pull away but she already has my arm and wants me to love her, wants me, but I make her wait like she did to me. I do love her sometimes though, to be fair to her, I think she knows that, it is just that I do everything the hard way, this makes simple pleasures inconsequential. It makes her inconsequential. Enough of this, I shall absorb my surroundings, revel in a place filled with those who I want to know me, filled with those I will never have to know, this satisfies me like a hit from a bottle of plastic glue.
After paying our entrance Ed takes his flask out of his coat and passes it to me.
“Dude, I don't know what is bugging you, but I'm sure you need lots of time to think about it, have some coffee, and just so you know, I know you are crazy and not pretending." Ed tells me.
“Cheers Ed, I need to tell someone who would be able to analyse what I have seen and heard, whether it was real or not. What I am trying to figure out is: If I imagine something is it somewhere in my brain? Does that make it real? How much physical space does something have to take up to be real? Surely all those atoms in the physical brains of all those that believe in that said reality." Ed always gets the proper story from me.
“Think upon other matters dude, now is not the time for an in-depth conversation, the music is as loud as a badger on a stick." I do not question his advice. I just wish he had told me that I didn’t sound militant enough, and that I sounded a bit too much like a hippie.


"Hello you, sitting there, thinking of yesterday,
I kill fools that kill my time. All you do is pray.
How are you? Bleeding from the wound of me,
You who dulls the blade of my sword annoyingly."

These words flutter through the air around us, as a water sprinkler system might drown a fire. We sit down at a table between the mosh pit and the bar. The cross on the coffin table is inverted; well it is from this end of the table. We do not sit next to the bar for we do not need to as none of us drink alcohol.
"I like my brain cells." I state, the others know the risk too, but I ask Alice if she wants something anyway. I find this a strange concept, the offering of poisonous substances to the ones you want to protect. Anyway she declines, and attempts to kiss me. Perhaps we are trying to protect our loved ones from reality.
Then Ed's favourite song comes on, I can feel him looking at me from underneath his hat, and through his glasses, telling me I must get up to dance. I hate to make an effort. The rhythm is slow, and it has church bells, drums, a male choir and a synthesizer to give it an eerie touch. As the first short blasts of the synthesizer ring out everyone starts to fall forwards dead, only to be resurrected by the silence in-between the beats. Then when the drums start the automatons that worship this noise flail humanly in the strobe lighting as the pace picks up. I am between what looks like a disillusioned, bitter, office worker that has an ugly wife and was bullied at school, a guy who is dressed in a fashion so modern I don’t even know that boring people are starting to copy it to coerce girls into sleeping with them and Ed who is head-banging with his cowboy hat on.

"My eyes,
They burn!

My world,
Your money!

Die! You're broken, forsaken, absolution nowhere, absolutely.
Die! You're wealth keeps me mortal, cancerous, stuck in the twentieth century!

Your life,
Limits mine!

You live,
My death!"

This song makes me think: If only people acted in a logical, emotionless, farsighted and altruistic manner. If governments had real long term goals, if a country agreed to pay huge taxes to fund big science projects so that their children would be the immortal, healthy, rulers of Mars! Okay that might be a little radical as a manifesto, but this would not be far off the truth if people knew the difference between acting and pretending. If only someone listened to these lyrics that could alter fate for the best. The crowd starts jumping and pushing at each other in a playful yet serious way. I stand almost still in this mob, the calm in this storm of changing energy forms.


“My love,
She burns!

My universe,
Your treasury!

Why? Your deathist, parochial, flawed saviors have an
Impact!
Why? Your mistakes cost me my life! You buy all our deaths!

You're Death,
And mine!

I die,
Your death!"

Afterwards the singer breaks down in tears, and the sweat that has been whipped onto the speakers looks like his tears are flowing through them.
In time, Ed and I are alone as a song with the same rage, but no message, comes on. Ed and I relate his songs deep-rooted meanings to our academic learning. We want to not only benefit ourselves; knowledge should be shared with all, for free. After this reflection, I walk back to Alice who is talking to Jon about my victory over him; she likes the manly side of me. I sit down next to her; I think I moan about the state of the world and the human condition. The constant, constricted, stagnant headache that hurts the front of my head, and the part just above the back of my neck, is moving around my eyes in surges, the pain of carrying on is only just bearable.
All of us sit and listen to the music, but my attention drifts again to those living components of my surroundings. The heavily pierced, white contact lens wearing devil worshippers I seem to be in the general vicinity of, these weaklings could not protect me if they tried. They do not accept me and my friends, they are as elitist as everyone else wants to be. They can smell our money, our intelligence and our reservations. I do feel in less danger though around those who know they too stand a good chance of being beaten up from drunken commoners in the street. We stay until about 1:00 AM in the morning, whence comes the idea that we should go back to my room as it is the nearest, plus I want to talk with Ed for the morning is young.
We leave, having paid to passively smoke a packet of cigarettes and damage our hearing. This is by no means worse than being constantly radiated- microwave ovens mimic the universe. Alice walks behind me to the car, when we get there she puts her hands on my shoulders and starts giving me a massage, my shoulders are constantly tense from all my formulating. Nothing is said. She turns me around so she can see my face, but what I see is the vampire on the roof of the club behind her, the one from before, crouched in a primitive manner staring directly at me. Alice turns around to see what I am looking at, gets exasperated, and then starts to hug me. In turn, I lift her head softly with my right hand cupping her cheek and French kiss her, only the French would come up with something as pointless as that as a solution to stop sexually transmitted diseases, not that it isn’t a primitive form of communication from primordial times. Yet, if I want offspring, a son, Alice is my best bet, and she appreciates the gesture that can symbolize so much. I run my right hand through her hair and caress her tongue with my own, ending lastly by sucking on her bottom lip. I taste the scars of an old lip piercing. I am being oppressed by my own emotions, but right now as I am pressing her up against my car I do not care, for my lust can never be satiated, only subdued. Oh how I wish I could destroy my body and be free from my humanity, replacing it with a better machine.
We climb into my car, and I cannot smile about my situation, I am buzzing, but my ears are deafened. I smile because I know I am in control of the relationship, even if she likes to say otherwise amongst her friends. How sad that she could believe she was better than I am, but she believes in many stupid things. I believe we will be home soon, I believe that the universe would do well to revolve around me.
I pull my keys out of my pocket; I consider that it is lucky that the key hole is no higher, as my key chain only just reaches it. I open the door and let Alice in first for some real reason that I just cannot seem to remember. The rest follow me in. Their first actions are to destroy the tidy appearance of my room, they do not care at all, I have expensive stuff- ornaments specifically placed! Bitches! Jesus did not have to tolerate this; Buddha did not want for any of these mortal trappings, which was better off?
I place some blankets on the floor along with some pillows. I tidy the mess they have already made in the temple I have devoted to myself, the offerings and the sacrifices now meaningless to these heathens. I do not know whether I believe this is my true thinking, or just what I am thinking, or whether I have an obsessive-compulsive disorder. If I think I have a mental disorder, do I? I think so, unless you want to track the products of a certain reaction that has been proved to be related to the disorder, or slap me until you prove I am normal or until I turn normal. I hate psychology; it is a bad excuse for art students to play at neurosurgeon, all theory and too many new words that mean less than usual words. It is history or even mathematics that shape the meaning of words not perverts with beards.
We strip down a layer and I hang up everyone’s coats-what a pointless farce. Jon has taken his armour off too, he only sleeps in it when his night light goes, in this respect he is as paranoid as me. It must be hard for someone so lawful, so chivalrous to be swallowed in the darkness of night that defines all it touches with evil. Ill and Ed keep their shoes on, as they will go for a walk soon. Soon they do so. It was energetically unfavorable and a bit pointless to take their coats off to put them on again. We leave Alice and Jon; they are too nice to do anything they should not. An English teacher once told me nice was not a very descriptive word, but nice is the word that suits them most aptly.
“Have you noticed how much we leave them together?” Ed turns to me and says this.
“I don’t think Jon has HIV, but if he so much as gives her a poem, I will hire a killer with my student loan.” I grin like the Cheshire cat in the satisfaction of knowing throughout myself that I would actually follow that through if he did anything more that woo her.
“Shish kebabs, laugh out loud dude, I can see you mean that!” He says, loving to be around someone who is more chaotic than he is eccentric.
The campus is lit by the part of the night when you think it is more morning than night; a feeble orange-blue glow touches everything, with the occasional window light flooding into our path. We instinctively walk towards the canal, as we have not trod down here in the dark before. Ed starts to talk to me and I warm to his words, he asks what happened earlier and I try to explain. My words do not come out in structured sentences, but Ed sometimes understands what I am saying.
“Ed, I am a scientist damn it, vampires don’t exist.”
“Well just because you are a scientist doesn’t stop me existing, so why should you be able to stop something existing just by saying so?” Ed’s retort speaks truth.
“You know what I mean, it is just not logical, but then again there is not much logic in humanity.”
“We are quite a random arrangement of atoms, but some say you can predict randomness, in this way, we are random, and lightning that can strike the same point twice, in just as likely circumstance is just like us and our creation. A vampire inhabiting the same part of space as us and lightning, as opposed to a vampire appearing from nothingness, on its own, this could happen.” Ed states.
“Things that will only happen once in a million years happen all the time, things that are so near to impossible that they would otherwise be, these things never actually happen.” I say, using my non existent magical powers as a rationale.
“And would we be walking here if we thought a vampire was near?” Ed questions in a somewhat rhetorical, yet ambiguous way.
“Yes!” I point out.
“I know, I know, yes, I know.” Ed says, reminiscing on dashed past thoughts of easily achievable immortality with the same answer.
We carry on walking; the sounds of distant cars and the sound of the wind surging through the trees come at us from every side. As we pass an old factory that is lying next to the opposing side of the canal I see Ed look sharply, then dismiss whatever he saw from his mind.
“Do you believe in demons, Ill?” It must be the beer, that’s what I would have said, but I am sure he didn’t have any.
“I want to Ed, I really want to, sometimes I do. I believe when I see dark shadows, grey shadows and orbs of light, but I don’t know what to think. I don’t know if I want to know, I don’t know whether I want to believe now, whilst I am in this place.” I wonder after saying this whether it would be more cliché if there was a demon or entity nearby, or if there was not.
But there is, and it is not her, and Ed knows that it is here too or is his expression due to evolutionary psychology, in response to having seen the hysterical look I just gave him? No probably not.
“I don’t mind demons Ill, but this vampire, this fallen angel. Ill we have to get out of here dude!” Ed says, through for a moment I think he could be joking, parodying the experiences that I just told him about.
I agree with him, and take another look around us, what I see is a dark fetid canal rippling with the life of rats, a closed off waterlogged tunnel that was the very inspiration of darkness and many abandoned buildings. To the imagination these surroundings could conjure up demons, but could they conjure the angels of the night, the angels of vengeance? All we need now is some lightening. I will probably trip up soon, but now I have thought that it will happen, it won’t, because I wanted it to.
In these moments Ed’s temporo-spatial location is very quickly in the opposite direction. Not seeing the point of being here alone I race Ed back, all I have to do is outrun him, unless I am the only victim, but I know that we all are victims, so I quash this thought.
With the speed of a messenger I run, my long, black coat rippling in the air behind me, the hair on my head streaming, caressing and playing with the wind. I may as well be the monster chasing Ed, perhaps I am. Then I reach Ed and I put my hands on his shoulders. He screams and I realize the mistake soon enough.
“Oh it’s you!” Ed says in contempt.
We rush around the corner and the pace of events slows. The masquerade ends. Though Ed is crying now, he seems more and more like me all the time, is that good? Well at least I can put up with this other truly godless one, unlike those god-fearing fools we left at home.
“They won’t take you seriously.” I say.
“Do you, Ill?”
We continue walking, and just before we get to my room the darkness sets, leaving the sun there as always, the red hue turns the clouds a deep shade of purple, this is considered beautiful. I do not understand such subjective ideas; it is even more obscure than flowering plant genitalia. I do not see how anything that is not useful can be elegant or beautiful. I am beautiful. I am home. My home is beautiful.
I open the door to my building, locking it quickly behind me, only to see two figures staring at each other across the hall. The enchantments of these figures prevents me from moving, the power of these vampires makes me feel the same way as Steven Hawking’s, Immanuel Swedenborg’s or even Immanuel Kant’s genius does. The vampire by the kitchen exit is female, the one I saw first. She is constantly moving her nubile limbs in a hypnotizing motion, looking weightless; her black and red silken dress is in full splendor. The folds in the garment seem to be in perfect symmetry. The male whom I presume to be our tormentor just minutes earlier is standing at about six foot. I look to his face; the first thing that haunts me is his pale white eyes. He holds himself up like an aristocrat, this somehow suits his elaborate highwayman’s coat and the gold stitched, aquamarine shirt he wears under the plate armour. Hypnotised by their power all I can do is watch and listen, only to catch some of the conversation from the male.
“Hidy-ho devil child! This is not your business” he says to the female, his Germanic accent enhancing the authority of his words. “I thought you died in the flood, or did your son save you? Why my master marked him like that I have no idea. Enough of this idle banter, let me pass, or I shall end your immortal life. This blood has been my quarry since you conceived its poisoned beginnings.” He grabs onto the hilts of his gigantic, before concealed swords. I find this to be an appropriate point to enter my room. I run in, lock the door and shove a desk in front of it and sit next to Alice as I hear the crashing of titans, and the scrape of blades.
She puts her arms around me. Ed already in there tells them all about what just happened, I don’t listen, but neither do they. The music drowns out most things, yet so do my thoughts.
My thoughts repeat on me, as I try to digest my feelings, then with memories I swallow again. These thoughts get broken down into little inept globules of word sequence, lastly getting joined up to create mutated sentence DNA. Listen to yourself Ill, shit, you really are quite pathetic. Shit happens.
The exact thoughts I have are those you might get after not sleeping or eating for three days and then drinking four litres of energy drink, those perceptions where boundaries are no more real than anything else. I smile at Alice, and in the haze of my life I start to lie to myself again, jealous of the religious who actually believe what they tell themselves. I lie about the vampires, I lie and pray that I don’t see them, I lie that they exist. I could lie and think that the concepts of good and evil as they are used in this context are based on will are not the heavenly deciding factors, instead a kill count of exactly 31.7, or whether you have eaten cheesecake or not opens up the doors to paradise. What makes Christianity more right than other religions? Is it all the noses of Greek statues that they have, stored under the Vatican? Yeah, have you ever noticed that they have been broken off the statues, where are they huh, huh? I bet someone has a large collection of the somewhere. I think I can safely say without any question that all religions are wrong. Yet listen to her words Ill, the words of the porcelain one, her words of souls and Cain contradict this- the vampires think heaven exists!

Everything can be contradicted, though this is a get out clause for that which I dislike, and I know it.

I need to talk to her again, but first Alice, then bed. Alice has apparently given me a back massage, which was as splendid as lashings of ginger beer on a hot summer’s day, no really it was, Alice has quite a talent. I thank her and she is content in her own knowledge, whatever that maybe.
Staring around the room I find Jon composed statuesquely in the corner and Ed spread out on the floor, face down. These figures are not the happiest, they do not share many of my views, and they are not the kindest, but I have seen and met the alternatives. Alice is far from us in terms of attitude, but the hardest thing is convincing myself that I do not know what love is, or that I do not love her, and this is made harder when I grip her tight. I do not want to let go, but I do not want to know why. If I ask myself, if I venture where I always regret going, my conclusion will end with swings and roundabouts anyway, usually more swings.
If I ventured to think about what occurs, when I start to really love someone they become such a disappointment yet still my jealousy keeps them for its own sake. How they change instantly when you just get to know them as well as you thought you ever would. I would get on much better with a clone of myself; it would have some damned idea how lucky they are to have me. Though in reality I am the one that loses out in relationships and they always win, and I cannot even slap them around a bit. I think that is because others have lower expectations of life in general.
As I venture to a place that accepts both love and reason, as I am doing, what I find is as many reasons as I have time to think, as many excuses as I want, each backed up by subjective evidence. I also find me, I find the only person that cares enough about me for me to be partially satisfied with, even though I forget what I tell myself in time, like when I tell others, but at least I care. My conclusion is unimportant to anyone else, it is the thought process that I hone, this can be used for contemplation on other matters, or it could give me the wisdom not to ever think again. No, I like the pain that comes with realisation of the truth.
I caress Alice, she knows I love her more than I show; the gleeful yet slightly realistic attitude beckons me to her. I long to ravish her, yet I know that I appreciate her dearly for her ladylike morals. So I lie there in my bed, punishing myself for no reason. I could be with so many others, but I regret so many things already so it is best not to think about that.
I look into the eyes of my lover and all I see is my own reflection, all she sees is... I do not know what she sees, that is the problem, she either does not think, or does not tell me her thoughts, ever. She turns away. I cannot be bothered. I fall asleep.

***

I am standing in the corridor with the male vampire. If this is a dream I can’t tell the difference and I am slightly annoyed by this. Light fills this hall of darkness. I look to the kitchen window and see a blanket of sheet lightning above us. The vampire looks even more inhuman in light of this complex reaction, his white skin is glowing with a radiance that I could never have imagined. Staying focused upon him, or maybe being compelled to look, I admire his features; his hair is just shorter than mine, and black, black as the abyss. It contrasts with the white of his eyes, which is all there is, they glow like his face did, I know he can still see me even though he has no pupils. Under his sinister eye a tattoo has been drawn, it is of a tear, the kind murderers have for each kill, but there is an ‘n’ next to this, I ponder whether this stands for never, or infinite.
“Hello child, how are the thoughts of a confused mortal, good I hope. Ill, I have to warn you, one should not trust her. Would you trust the devil? She is temptation, she is your bad conscience, she has felled others, why not you?” His ancient tongue pronouncing each syllable with eloquence and an emphasis that makes his message resonate like the thunder that echoes now and then from above.
“What do I say to beings that rack with sheer physical strength and mental power? If I disagree with either of you it will surely end my life, but if it were the intent of either of you to kill me then I would not be here now,” Yes Ill, you just told him what you were thinking, what he already knows, as do you. “Do I get an introduction?”
“Questions, questions, I will make sure there is time. I can read your thoughts, but you already presumed too much, did you not? You wonder if her words are true, you want to know that you are special, well you are not, rather you will not be, and for future reference, do not associate me with her, she is nothing like me, so don’t do it, Jah.”
“Where is she?” She must still be alive after their fight, as he talks of her life still, yet if they are immortal enemies, and my control is the desired prize, she must be near.
“She will come after you, but first she needs to feed.”
I can hear the sound of someone making themselves heard behind me, footsteps that drag more than they need to.
“Hello my child, te-he-he, just look what the cat dragged in. Cats, cats, squirrels and the birdies! Te-he-he-he.” Her childish, yet raunchy, rough voice takes me by surprise, I did not notice it last time. Her lips remind me of freshly caught eels, voluptuous and wet. “You have not broken my plaything yet I see.” This causes a look of religious righteousness to appear on the male’s face, this is the only description I can use.
“Be gone infidel, before you find purgatory here on earth! Do you corrupt the minds of all you touch, or is it a family thing?” Well, I think the choice of my future, my fate, is down to them, so I better just let them get on with it, that’s just ace.
I walk back down the hallway and find everyone the same as I did when I left, they do not change at the same rate as I do and they do not consider themselves different after a relentless stream of events and questioning. This is why I find it so difficult to fit in: I change. I could probably legitimately use the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ excuse for breaking up with someone. Indeed even the vampires probably have a constant personality, even if the female seems to be quite deranged.
Lying down where I was before, still am, or in any case, where I will wake up, I start to think of those I have known before, those who I have, with abandon, abandoned. I will surely abandon those that surround me now; I am too unpredictable for me, let alone anyone else. The people before, I did not choose them, they were just there. Ed, Alice and Jon, these I chose, and I chose them for their similarities to me, rather than their faults. This was a mistake, in some ways, but choices have to be made, whatever the consequences you can learn something, choices have to be made. Right now my choice is that I am going to wake up.

Hello Sunday, hello world, lets make some useful synapse connections about talking to concepts and inanimate objects. Yes you, the reader, I have chemically altered your brain. Ha-ha!

What can I do on a Sunday? Well as soon as I get these vagabonds out of my room, smirk, I will probably get infuriated by the fact that somehow, sometime, I have convinced myself that watching TV and playing computer games is a waste of time, gods be damned, I really like computer games, before I realised you could get tattoos, money, women, muscles, power, cool hair, full plate armour and gas masks in real life. I tried to hide in them from reality, and it was good- I am sure God said that, with all those people to hear his words millions of years later, all those believers, those dreamers, those really scary religious people. Nero should have lit more Christian torches.
I could do with a torch now or at least a decent blanket, it is still cold, and it penetrates me. This is refreshing, a stark comparison to sw