CHOOSE YOUR OWN MINDFUCK: A Night in Eighth Block Tower (A74)
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You’ve decided it’s time to get the fuck out of there already…
"Goddamn spiders!" someone behind you shouts, but before you can turn around to see who it is, you're smacked on the back of the head with something flat and flimsy. It takes a few seconds for the pain to rise to the surface, but once it's there, your blood boils.
You turn around and see a thin man with dark skin and a scruffy beard, somewhere in his mid-fifties, holding a fly swatter. He’s standing way too close. You back away to put some space between the two of you, but with every step you take, he closes the gap. He’s wearing an old pair of eyeglasses, much too big for his face, and between the two lenses, you’re surprised he can see anything at all, as they’ve been thoroughly caked with grubby finger oils. You also happen to notice that his left eye is considerably smaller than his right. It’s bloodshot with a remarkably pale iris, much lighter in hue than the one on his left. You can’t help but to stare at it—that is until he rears his arm back, taking aim again.
"You got a problem, guy?" you say, doing your best to keep from raging. Your question seems to confuse him.
"You don't mind them squirming all over you like that? Man, that’s nuts. That creepy crawly shit doesn't bother you?" the man asks, lowering his fly swatter.
Now you're confused.
"What creepy crawly shit?" you ask.
He sighs, as if he's annoyed he even has to explain. "Man, the spiders! The building's infested and here you are just letting 'em crawl all over you!" You look down to examine your body, but see nothing out of the ordinary. The man pauses briefly to swat you again, this time right on the center of the face. "Sorry, man. I don't care if you like it or not... it's creeps me the fuck out. I can't handle it. Goddamn spiders, right? Where the fuck did they even come from anyway? That's what I'd like to know. You know what I think? I think they were dropped on us by the government. I read this story once where—"
You cut him off. "One... what the fuck are you talking about? And two... hit me again with that thing and I'm going to put your other eye out of commision."
The man cups his hand over his bad eye. "You think it's the eye?! Could that really be what's happening here?"
He's making you feel insane. "What is happening here?" you ask, spacing every word as if they were complete sentences.
"You really can't see that shit?"
"The spider shit?"
"Yeah, man... the spiders and shit. They're all over you... the walls... everything! The whole tower's infested! You really can't see that shit?"
You shake your head.
He drops the fly swatter. "Then I've gone insane."
You smile, and your reaction seems to offend him. "Oh, sorry. I'm not poking fun. I'm just happy it isn't me."
"That's fucked up," he says, remaining stoic. You can't tell if he's angry.
"Yeah, I guess it is," you say, and just leave it at that.
After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, the man cracks a smile. "I guess we're all a little fucked up, huh?"
You laugh. He throws his arm around you, then leans in to look you over with his good eye. His breath reeks of tuna fish.
"Hey man, I'm sorry about the whole fly swatter thing. As you've noticed, I injured my eye a few hours ago and I guess it's been fucking with me ever since. Making me hallucinate and shit."
"It's fine," you say, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he only clings tighter to you.
"Are you hungry?" he asks. "Cause I was headed to the Tower Cafeteria myself. If you'd like to join me, it'll be my treat. It's the least I can do for scuffing you up!"
He laughs.
"You didn't scuff me up. I'm fine. No harm done," you say, then finally successfully shrug his arm off your shoulder. "Thanks for the offer, but no thanks. I've gotta run. I've only been here a few hours, but I've had enough. No offense, but this place isn't for me."
“Man, just cause you say ‘no offense’ doesn’t mean I won’t take offense. I’m fucking offended. This is my home, brother,” he says, but doesn’t seem angry, despite telling you that he’s angry. After a few seconds, he smiles, then pokes you in the ribs. It kind of hurts. “I’m just kidding. This place is a shithole. Get out while you can!”
He laughs, then waves you off, heading in the direction of the cafeteria.
“Stay cosmic, brother!” he shouts, then raises his hand to form a peace sign with his fingers. You nod, wondering if the man is real or imaginary, then shake the thought out of your head.
You turn and exit the building through the busted glass doors of the front entrance.
Outside, it’s still dark, except for the bright light of the full moon reflecting off the wet, crumbling pavement. You hear muffled voices coming from somewhere off to the right. You glance over to see Bee and her two exterminator friends standing by the curb. One of the men is loading her trash bags into the back of their van.
You decide to walk in the opposite direction, which you feel ends up working out for the best, because now the moon is behind you and isn’t so blinding.
You follow the sidewalk until you’re far outside the borders of Eighth Block, and not once do you look back.
THE END
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